What did you learn in [graduate] school]?

transcript of posting on academia.edu

"What did you learn in [graduate] school?" To see [what I had not been paying attention to]. To remember [what I did not want to]. "What is knowledge?" "How is knowledge used? Who determines how it is used? Who decides what is knowledge? Who is served by it?" "What is academic freedom?" It is a deeply compromised by a system that can only be described as educational serfdom, with an entrenched hierarchy that looks out for its own interests before defending 'academic freedom' and diversity of opinion. It has no real self-interest in taking more than a desultory self-examination of itself, its rules, written, spoken, and unspoken. Granted there must be certain individuals do not abuse the system or at least do it less than others. "Why are/have you been interested in 'history'--the past? What connection can something which is 'over,' 'dead,' and relegated to dusty volumes in libraries--where only pointy heads go--have with the present, or the future? What's the point of 'looking backwards' (at mostly 'dead white men') when we have to move forward?" This proposed article is not academic in the traditional sense but hopefully it does provide insight into one person's examination of an academic discipline as practiced by both the author and the object of his critical scrutiny at the University of Kansas, 1991-93, Kress Department of Art History. The goal is examination, self-knowledge, understanding, the dissemination of a history that has relevance to higher education as it practiced not in theory but in practice at least under the circumstances herein recounted. I understand that many, if not most academics, will think these disclosures inappropriate, not "scholarly." No, I am not providing a longitudinal study of the effects of negative professor-graduate student relationships at one or several institutions of higher learning. But I am being scrupulous and as objective as I can be in my recollection of conversations and interactions which have haunted me over the past 20+ years. I ask: What good is all the prize-winning scholarship in the world if one cannot be honest about what took place in one's classroom? If one cannot take responsibility for history as one lived and wrote it, however indirectly? The more footnotes, the more sheer enumerating of facts, the more quotations from people of "higher [scholarly] standing" does not make necessarily for an article or book that is "better," especially if it is passionless or has little relevance except in a very abstract way. The violence in our schools is not limited to middle schools (or elementary schools). The bullies only grow into adult bullies; they do not disappear or stop their behaviors upon graduation from college, notwithstanding popular images of cap-and-gown graduation ceremonies and ivory towers. As a child of the 1960s civil rights movement in the U.S. and one who lived in Beijing during the student movement in 1989, and one who personally witnessed how civic and educational institutions failed him, I am forced to confront these questions not merely on an academic but a personal level. We might be well reminded that each [living] moment passes into a moment of history, and that the living have this special responsibility to history if only because there is no way to live without having to live, construct, confront history. Each moment contains a kernel of courage, whatever the odds against it. Each moment can and should be lived with fearless honesty. ὁ ... ἀνεξέταστος βίος οὐ βιωτὸς ἀνθρώπῳ If no can be bothered (or is too afraid) to remember, what does this do to 'history'? {I respect very much the Tiananmen mothers for not wanting to 'let this die,' knowing that the Chinese government wants them to die off taking their memories with them). And to take responsibility for history. Sophocles in Oedipus Rex, said as much, as did Sigmund Freud centuries later. To cut to the chase, I would like to acknowledge that in 1992 U was used as an emotional punching bag by my professor, Marsha Weidner [now Marsha Haufler], resulting in psychological trauma for life, in hindsight, less important than the career derailment itself. Neither the University administration nor department offered any assistance, although I did visit the university health center and sought outside help as well. As I write this, I have fallen into a state of physiological depression, fevers and chills having anteceded the writing of this draft by about half a day. At the same time, I admit now they I could never have had the understanding I have now of Edvard Munch's "The Scream" without the experience(s) I had with Ms. Weidner at the University of Kansas. The scream is about one who has heard (Or more precisely, the recipient of the scream), not the one who has screamed. The painting has been misinterpreted: It is after the scream This was an interpretation no academic had clued me to. It "feels" intuitively correct. The air is set in motion from the scream though all is silent except in the soul of the receiver, who vainly and in disbelief covers his ears. The bulging eyes gap for a mouth. and the wraith-like body in sway tell us better than any words could what the subjective experience is. (No scene from "Star Wars" could ever be this more disturbing, more unreal and real at the same time). All I could say to the people I tried to tell was that "she screamed at me [in her office]. She screamed at me." Move on. Bury it. I tried to. For over 22 years. But the images, words, sounds will not die, do not die. They remain etched in memory and become our history. To recover the history which is ours and which lives every day even without our awareness or acknowledgment, that, to me, is the task of the historian of any stripe. Reclaiming the history of what was forgotten, lost, denied, unacknowledged, buried alive, buried dead, if you have it. Maybe this is the way I will move on. By sharing the strong connection between art and life. I ask myself now: Why is it that if anyone behaved the way she behaved when I was verbally and psychologically assaulted in her office one morning, I, or most people, would tell the person to "f--- off" immediately that I meekly listened to everything she screamed at me, not uttering a word in my defense? What circumstances, besides my sheer fear, hurt, and paralysis (the mouse before the python) contributed to this situation and resulted in a trauma that had unfortunate consequences for the rest of my life? By showing the underbelly of an education, I sincerely hope that this will in even a small way make it less likely that it will happen to another graduate student. It was easier to keep my silence, or so I thought. After all, it was expected of me. That is, ultimately, the coward's way out. Presumably, very few people will ever see this, much less be persuaded by what I have recounted. But even if it makes a minuscule difference, it is preferable to saying nothing. I do it for myself and at the same time for others. And perhaps for my parents as well who would have wanted me to take care of myself and who stressed the importance of an education. Having grown up in the United States and gone to a prominent liberal arts college, though, I endorse the notion that "education" is more the the recitation of facts or the ribbons of academic or professional accolades. This "confession" was not something I would have wanted to reveal. It took 22 years, nightmares, illness, and an indifference, a glaring silence from the University of Kansas, and a newsletter which followed me over that same time period, finding my new address whenever I moved, being sent against my express wishes. C'est pas vraiment mon truc...de me devoiler, ni de devoiler des autres dans un quelconque domaine publique, C'est pas mon intention. C'est d'abord de raconter l'histoire de mon education qui peut sembler invraisemblable mais qui est en rait la verite. Et c'est ca que je recherche. J'y dis ce que j'ai decouvert jusqu'ici et ce que je continue a chercher. A few years ago I wrote to Marsha Weidner aka Marsha Haufler about my experience ("Why did this happen?") but received no response. This indifference to the mental health of students may not suddenly be news, but the particularly severe circumstances of my ordeal warrant, in my opinion, much more attention from university administrators if the cycle of abuse is not to lead even worse things. What causes young people, and older people as well, to commit acts of violence, against themselves or others? My guess: The brutality of words, looks, actions, voices This should not be happening anywhere but certainly not in higher education. If Linda Nochlin can be permitted the use of a four-letter word whose use is strongly disapproved of in all but very private quarters, surely there is room for tolerance of the use of a certain five-letter word used widely to indicate disapprobation in the vernacular of the United States in 2016. Unfortunately, words--the stock-in-trade of the profession , not matter how strongly worded, are a weak stand-in for more actions which would be warranted. Assault--not just sexual or "physical"--can occur to those of a different gender, of a different skin colors than we are accustomed to hearing about, even if no one hears [about] them. Or, at least, believes, that they have, in fact, occurred. Suicides have occurred at my most liberal of alma maters because college administrators failed to provide adequate channels of support to students and, instead, implied that the students in question were at least partially to blame adn that they had done all that they could. I did not fail [at] the University of Kansas so much as the institution failed me, as it undoubtedly as has failed others. It failed to protect from the caprices and abusive behavior of one woman and from the indifference of a system that did live up to its self-laudatory ideals. Actually, two decades is only a short time in history. And dissent, including unconventional formats, is an honorable tradition within the Western Tradition. Without specifics, recounted perhaps even in numbing detail, our generalizations cannot but be shallow and unproven. Epatons la bourgeoisie, ceux qui parmi nous sont si complaisants. (Thanks, T.J. Clark).