WPAs in Transition: Navigating Educational Leadership Positions
324
WPAs in Transition: Navigating Educational Leadership Positions
324eBook
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Overview
WPAs in Transition shares a wide variety of professional and personal perspectives about the costs, benefits, struggles, and triumphs experienced by writing program administrators making transitions into and out of leadership positions. Contributors to the volume come from various positions, as writing center directors, assistant writing program administrators, and WPAs; mixed settings, including community colleges, small liberal arts colleges, and research institutions; and a range of career stages, from early to retiring. They recount insightful anecdotes and provide a scholarly context in which WPAs can share experiences related to this long-ignored aspect of their work.
During such transitions, WPAs and other leaders who function as both administrators and faculty face the professional and personal challenges of redefining who they are, the work they do, and with whom they collaborate. WPAs in Transition creates a grounded and nuanced experiential understanding of what it means to navigate changing roles, advancing the dialogue around WPAs’ and other administrators’ identities, career paths, work-life balance, and location, and is a meaningful addition to the broader literature on administration and leadership.
Contributors: Mark Blaauw-Hara, Christopher Blankenship, Jennifer Riley Campbell, Nicole I. Caswell, Richard Colby, Steven J. Corbett, Beth Daniell, Laura J. Davies, Jaquelyn Davis, Holland Enke, Letizia Guglielmo, Beth Huber, Karen Keaton Jackson, Rebecca Jackson, Tereza Joy Kramer, Jackie Grutsch McKinney, Kerri K. Morris, Liliana M. Naydan, Reyna Olegario, Kate Pantelides, Talinn Phillips, Andrea Scott, Paul Shovlin, Bradley Smith, Cheri Lemieux Spiegel, Sarah Stanley, Amy Rupiper Taggart, Molly Tetreault, Megan L. Titus, Chris Warnick
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781607326335 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Utah State University Press |
| Publication date: | 04/23/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 324 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Courtney Adams Wooten is assistant professor and director of Composition at George Mason University. She currently serves as a member of the Council of Writing Program Administrators' Executive Board and she is the book review editor for the journal WPA: Writing Program Administration. She studies feminist rhetorics, writing program administration, and first-year composition. Her work has been published in Composition Studies, Harlot, WPA, and Peitho as well as several edited collections. .
Jacob Babb is assistant professor of English at Indiana University Southeast and the associate editor of WPA. His research focuses on composition theory and pedagogy, writing program administration, and rhetoric. He has published articles in Harlot, WPA, and Composition Forum and chapters in several edited collections.
Brian Ray is assistant professor of rhetoric and writing at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock, where he also directs the composition program. He is the author of Style: An Introduction to History, Theory, Research, and Pedagogy. His articles have appeared in Written Communication, Rhetoric Review, Computers and Composition, and Composition Studies.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
A STATE OF PERMANENT TRANSITION
Strategies for WPA Survival in the Ever-Present Marginal Space of HBCUs
Karen Keaton Jackson
Full-time faculty member. Part-time administrator. Fundraiser. Fund seeker. Conference-proposal organizer. Advisor. Mentor. Hustler. Semistalker (I'll explain). Othermother. Big Sister. Auntie. Godmother. Data gatherer. Survey creator. Advocate. Report writer. Assessment coordinator. Tutor trainer. Faculty resource. Cheerleader. Manager. Leader.
I can recall early in my career being pointed to the Portland Resolution, that wonderful document from 1992 that spells out the acceptable work conditions and roles we all should expect as WPAs at our institutions. When I was hired at my institution as a tenure-track assistant professor over ten years ago, I had no idea that just a few short months later, I would be asked to revitalize the then-writing center and oversee the first-year writing program. But, I did not fear, for I armed myself with "The Portland Resolution" (1992), feeling confident my department chair would see these guidelines and ensure my responsibilities were delegated accordingly.
I was so naïve.
Ten years later, I chuckle at the wonderful descriptions of what should have been in place when I accepted the dual, really triple, role of directing the writing center, which included designing and implementing a campus-wide writing-intensive program and directing first-year composition, all in the second year of my tenure-track journey. (It wasn't until after I received tenure that I was relieved of first-year writing.) In truth, none of those guidelines from the Portland Resolution were fulfilled for me: "clear job descriptions or role statements ... clearly defined administrative structure ... informed guidelines for assessing the work of a WPA fairly ... access to those individuals and units that influence their programs ... the power to request, receive,and allocate funds sufficient for the funding of the program" ("The Portland Resolution" 1992, 88–91; my emphasis). As a junior faculty member and lone compositionist, I struggled with saying no, for I didn't want to be seen as uncollegial or unwilling to do the work given to me. Many junior faculty members often confront this very issue, as even Liliana M. Naydan discusses in chapter 20 of this edited collection. In her chapter, she points out that "many WPAs engage in administration prior to or sometimes at the expense of attaining tenure and the greater job security that accompanies it" (284–85). So, I knew I had to work smarter, not harder, and find ways to make this new arrangement work. And in terms of the writing program itself, I had to figure out how to be a visionary in creating this new presence on campus while simultaneously managing the day-to-day operations of the program and the new Writing Studio (formerly writing center).
The editors of this collection asked for submissions from colleagues moving into or out of various roles within the academy, implying that one role is left behind when a new one is added. The purpose is for WPAs to engage in dialogue about the experience of moving from one role to the next, thus ensuring an increased chance of success. But, what about those colleagues, such as myself, who essentially live in a state of transition, constantly moving between the aforementioned roles consistently, simultaneously, and permanently? Colleagues at large research institutions often have the luxury of focusing on one, at most two, formal job roles at a time with ample resources to support each one. However, for those of us at smaller institutions, especially historically black universities (HBCUs) such as mine that are teaching centered and have fewer funding options, wearing multiple hats becomes the norm. This phenomenon causes us to have questions such as what current leadership research exists that can be applicable to WPAs in this position? What is both gained and lost by existing in a marginal leadership space on a consistent basis? What are some best practices and effective strategies used by WPAs in this position to ensure success?
To help frame this discussion, I cite John Kotter's 2001 article "What Leaders Really Do" to help define our ideas of leadership. What his article essentially shows is that occupying these multiple roles forces individuals to be both managers and leaders, which at its core is problematic as the two roles often are in opposition. In this article, I also draw from the works of Donna Strickland (2011) and Tony Scott (2009) to critically deconstruct notions of managers and leaders to work toward a new philosophy that helps WPAs more successfully navigate between the two roles. Ultimately, I argue that despite what the majority of leadership research suggests, it is possible to place the two roles of manager and leader in conversation with each other so each distinctive need is fulfilled and the WPA has a better chance of success (and sanity).
In the business world, there is a plethora of literature about how leaders and managers differ, though sometimes the two roles are conflated. In his Harvard Business Review article, "What Leaders Really Do," John Kotter (2001) explains how we can appreciate the strengths of each role. Managers "brin[g] order and predictability to a situation." They plan and budget, control and solve problems, and handle organizing and staffing. In short, managers "manage" the day-to-day operations in a specific work environment. In contrast, leaders set the direction, help align people (finding the right fit between the people and the vision), and motivate and inspire others. In short, they are the visionaries who set the tone and direction of where the organization is headed. Both roles are necessary and complement each other well. Yet, when one is called to be both manager and leader simultaneously, it can be difficult at times to separate the two. It's hard to step back and be a visionary when caught up in the daily grind of problem solving and putting out fires.
In composition scholarship, those of us who embody this double consciousness (to borrow from W.E.B. DuBois) are called "managerial intellectuals" by Marc Bousquet (2003). According to Bousquet, though many composition faculty do desire to become true intellectuals, or visionaries and leaders who impact the field, the reality is that many of us become managers or bosses in charge of writing centers, first-year writing programs, institutional writing programs, and so forth. (Bousquet 2003, 8–9). Donna Strickland (2011) goes even further to state the field of composition is operating in a "managerial unconscious," for we have omitted opportunities to think critically about the work of management and how the field ultimately is impacted (15). To dream big and inspire others when feeling down because we see the daily stumbling blocks that prevent us from being so great is difficult, to say it mildly. So, then, how does one negotiate the two roles and make the best of the situation?
At this point, it is necessary that I step back and give a brief history of the founding of HBCUs and a description of our contexts, particularly the ways in which faculty and students engage with one another. Historically black colleges and universities, or HBCUs, were founded because blacks were not allowed to attend predominately white institutions, or PWIs. The first HBCU was founded in 1837 (Cheyney University in Pennsylvania), and the majority of the others were founded by abolitionists and religious groups after the end of the Civil War. Currently, there are approximately one hundred HBCUs in existence, and they received their official designation as HBCUs from Congress in 1965. Specifically, an HBCU is defined as an institution whose "principal mission was and is the education of black Americans [and] was accredited and ... established before 1964" (United Negro College Fund n.d.). At HBCUs, we pride ourselves on having smaller class sizes, which allows for a more intimate and personalized learning process. Our primary focus is on teaching, with service and research following behind. As a result, we have higher teaching loads than those at research institutions (usually a 4/4 load or higher); however, because most HBCUs are primarily undergraduate institutions, we most often teach our courses and grade all assignments without the help of graduate assistants, thus giving students direct access to us at all times.
Though in current times HBCUs are becoming more diverse racially, the primary student clientele, particularly at the undergraduate level, is composed of African American students, and many of the traditions in terms of curriculum, classroom structure, and student-faculty interactions still exist today. Another interesting aspect of the HBCU student population is just how academically diverse it is. On the one hand, we stay true to our historical missions: we recruit "diamonds in the rough," or those students who on paper are not ideal or have not been the most academically prepared; we then polish them up and send them to be change agents in the world. It is essential also to note here that most are not in the best academic shape, not because of intelligence or innate ability but because of a lack of access, opportunity, and exposure (which usually is connected to socioeconomic status). Our classrooms are full of some of the most intelligent and competitive students, who choose to attend HBCUs over large research or Ivy League universities because of family legacy and tradition, personal obligations, or perhaps because their K–12 experiences were ones in which they were part of a handful of blacks in their high schools or in their honors classes and they want to experience four years in a safe space where they can embrace the fullness of and diversity within the black culture.
I've often been told by my students, "You're like the big sister I never had," though that was in my younger teaching days, or "You remind me of my auntie," or "You're like my academic mom," which I promptly replace with "academic godmother," as in my mind, I am nowhere near old enough to have an nineteen- year-old child. However, what these statements demonstrate is how many African American instructors at HBCUs serve as "othermothers" or even "otherfathers" to hundreds of students on a daily basis. Our campus-wide approach is labeled an intrusive one, for we essentially are tasked with engaging with our students by any means necessary. We female faculty and staff often stand in the gap and represent mother figures who gently nudge or give life advice to young people transitioning into adulthood. African American male faculty and staff offer young men and women visual images of positive black males, for we know the media rarely takes the opportunity to highlight black males in a positive light. I often have students with fathers who are in prison and have been there for most of the students' childhoods, if the fathers are present at all. Yet, these are young people determined to make different choices and select an alternate life path for themselves; still, they often need encouragement and sound advice on how to navigate this new space, for they may come from families or communities where they are the first to blaze this new trail. Thus, it is imperative to keep the unique HBCU context in mind while reading this chapter, as it very much shapes the WPA experience.
I admit that when I was a new WPA, the leadership piece came much more easily than the managerial piece. I had attended conferences and spent my summers reading writing center and writing-across-the-curriculum theory and pedagogy, all in an effort to determine what I wanted our new Writing Studio to look like and feel like; I wanted to see how I could inspire faculty members to implement our new writing intensive (WI) program in their academic departments. So, I focused on being a leader first. I changed the name of our writing center to the Writing Studio (I was inspired by Duke University's and Georgia State University's Studios), and I referred to our tutors as consultants, all to help bring about a positive new presence on campus and eliminate the negative stigma often attached to receiving tutorial services. After spending some time focusing on those "big-picture" items, I then realized I had to turn my focus to the day-to-day managerial tasks.
Those tasks included developing training materials, facilitating the consultant training, creating needed policies and procedures so the Writing Studio would run smoothly, and developing an assessment plan for the WI faculty so we could evaluate exactly what was happening in the courses. The deeper I got into the managerial piece, the harder it was to stay upbeat and continue being that visionary. But, rather than stay discouraged (though I still have my moments), I began to look at the benefits of being in two places at once, of being in a marginal leadership space and still able to effect change.
The first time I was introduced to the concept of marginal space, or liminal space, was in my undergraduate thesis course at Hampton University. To prepare us for scholarly work, our instructors required us to read Henry Louis Gates's 1988 The Signifyin' Monkey: A Theory of African-American Literary Criticism. In that text he gives an historical account, connecting African mythological and cultural beliefs with present-day African American dialect, illustrating how being in a marginal space is like being in two worlds. For the people of Yoruba, it meant that Esu-Elebara, a trickster figure of Yoruba mythology, literally had one foot in heaven and one foot on earth. He could go between both worlds, acting as a liaison for both humans and the heavenly world because of his ability to communicate in both spaces effectively. In African American culture, it means having the ability to speak in multiple dialects, including African American Vernacular English and Standard English (though we know the two are not mutually exclusive). Often, being in a marginal space is seen as negative, for it can be perceived as not being fully seen or valued in any real way. Yet, Gates posits that being in a marginal space can be positive, for it allows one to move easily from one role to the next, sometimes without even being noticed, seamlessly and rather effortlessly. In some ways it keeps others on their toes when it comes to you, for they don't always know what role you will occupy and when those transitions will take place.
This theme of WPAs occupying multiple roles is one that permeates this very text. Talinn Phillips, Paul Shovin, and Megan Titus in chapter 5 of this edited collection discuss WPAs who exist in a liminal space. They define liminal WPAs as adjuncts or graduate students or perhaps even tenure-track faculty. The assumption is that once one earns tenure or a permanent position, the liminality disappears. Yet, I posit that at smaller institutions, that liminal situation never goes away.
At my institution, I'm essentially the only one who is a part of or meets with all writing constituents on campus on a consistent basis. The advantage is that I am "insider" and in the know for essentially every writing sect. Thus, I think people in all areas are less guarded around me and are 100 percent real rather than censoring themselves to give the "appropriate" response. Also, I genuinely show interest for each group's concerns as related to student writing; I think there's an established trust I have with each of these groups so that even if I push back, disagree, or share another perspective, they understand I am bringing those ideas with everyone's best interests at heart.
Here's a very basic example: no matter how many classroom presentations we give or times I tell faculty members to give us advanced notification when they want to send several students to us at the same time, we inevitably have professors who require their entire class to come have their assignments "proofread" by someone in the Writing Studio before handing them in. In many instances, this requirement comes from the professors who refuse to allow us to give classroom presentations about our services. Consequently, most often these are the students who come in with less-than-enthusiastic attitudes about their appointments. They don't care to be actively engaged and would prefer to have someone else edit their paper while they sit back and relax. My consultants loathe these appointments. Hence, they have asked me if we can forbid any student whose teacher has not invited a presentation from receiving services because their students are never prepared to be participant learners. In the same vein, they have asked that we not allow faculty members to require students to come. I think the request is partially tongue in cheek, but I know there is some real truth behind the request. Similarly, they have asked if we can refuse to see students who come in for assistance the same day their papers are due. In both cases, I give an emphatic no and go on to explain why we cannot refuse students in our spaces.
(Continues…)
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