What's wrong with academia, part eight thousand
posted by bitchphd
Did anyone besides me find Friday's Chronicle article about going into debt to take a sabbatical deeply idiotic?
Ok, to begin with, the implication here that the pre-tenure sabbatical is okay because you can get a roommate and eat lentils is ridiculous. Firstly, because not all assistant professors are single; second, because many of us aren't in our mid-20s; third, because in theory the job of an assistant professor should pay a living professional wage; and fourth, because part of that job involves research--which one shouldn't have to support out of pocket. Oh, I realize that not everyone gets a pre-tenure sabbatical--believe me, I realize this--and that most of us do support our jobs out of pocket. I, for instance, had a problem yesterday charging *one bra* (I left my luggage at the boyfriend's--paging Dr. Freud--and yes, a woman needs at least one bra to get through the week) because my credit card is maxed out because my university has still not reimbursed me for my last conference trip. They won't, of course, reimburse the interest I'm paying on the charges; I'll eat that. And my "conference funding" will, at best, only pay for about 25% of my expenses; most of the cost of conference-going comes out of grants that I have to apply for a few times a year, even though of course if I don't get the funding and don't go to conferences I will therefore be seen as not doing my job. Oh well.
What really chafes, though, is the end of the article. Having pointed out that taking leave is necessary to get research done, and that this involves going into debt to do your job, we end up with a pollyanna conclusion that Suze Ormond says the only reason to use credit cards is to supplement "a job in a field you love, with advancement potential."
This is ridiculous. The author of the piece is *eleven years* past her pre-tenure sabbatical; she's not in the early stages of a career. This is the stage at which one's salary, according to Suze Ormond, is supposed to *have risen* already, so that you can pay *off* the credit cards, not rack 'em up paying the mortgage because your job expects you to produce research on your own dime. In fact, if you think about it, *graduate school* is supposed to be that early, debt-accumulation phase; once you get the assistant professor job, you ought to be paid enough to do the research. Waiting until after tenure to make a professional salary (in the author's case, about $65,000, apparently) is completely insane.
But in fact--and I've talked to other junior profs who say the same thing, it isn't just me--the assistant professor years are sometimes poorer than the graduate school years. Maybe you buy a house, or have a family. If you have young kids, probably they need to spend more hours in expensive daycare than they did in graduate school, when you taught fewer classes. Maybe now that you've finally graduated, your parents aren't supporting you any more. Certainly you're no longer taking out student loans. Perhaps after all those years of wearing grubby grad school thrift-shop clothing, you feel kind of compelled to create a semi-professional wardrobe. Maybe all that postponed dental care or those new glasses you've needed for years or the uncovered moving expenses involved in crossing a continent or needing to travel for research or conferences starts to come due. Possibly your partner, having quit her or his job to follow you, has taken a fairly substantive pay cut. Lots of factors--the end result of which is that junior profs often end up taking on debt just when they thought they were finally going to start paying it off. My debt load has gone up 400% over what I was carrying when I left graduate school, but my standard of living has gone way, way down.
Oh yes, I know: it's the life of the mind, we're supposed to be above material wants and needs. But as I've been saying for years: we aren't brains on sticks. Bodies have to get dressed, kids expect books and toys, research requires software and hardware and books and travel. Tuition costs are rising for students, state and federal governments are paying less and less of the expense of college and university education, and the faculty--like public school teachers have for years--are (increasingly? I don't know, but it certainly feels that way) holding up the institutions they work for by taking on personal debt. This may not be as true for those in the hard sciences, or the business school; on the other hand, it's even worse for adjuncts. It's a ridiculous state of affairs.
The emperor needs some damn clothes.
I remembered the first time I had had a sabbatical at three-quarter's pay, back when I was a frugal assistant professor living alone in an apartment. Back then I didn't end up in debt at all. I had decided to take the spring off, so I sublet my apartment for the year, moved in with a pal for the fall, while I was teaching, and then hopped on a plane to Europe for the spring semester. I lived on lentils, took public transportation, and stayed within my budget.
Eleven years, a partner, a child, and a dog later, it's a whole different story. I can't spend the semester at the overseas archives I used to use, can't leave my partner with all the child care, and can't find any way to cut our expenses. My research takes place in my own study or in the libraries of neighboring research institutions. And even without international travel, the debt rises, despite my best efforts to economize.
Ok, to begin with, the implication here that the pre-tenure sabbatical is okay because you can get a roommate and eat lentils is ridiculous. Firstly, because not all assistant professors are single; second, because many of us aren't in our mid-20s; third, because in theory the job of an assistant professor should pay a living professional wage; and fourth, because part of that job involves research--which one shouldn't have to support out of pocket. Oh, I realize that not everyone gets a pre-tenure sabbatical--believe me, I realize this--and that most of us do support our jobs out of pocket. I, for instance, had a problem yesterday charging *one bra* (I left my luggage at the boyfriend's--paging Dr. Freud--and yes, a woman needs at least one bra to get through the week) because my credit card is maxed out because my university has still not reimbursed me for my last conference trip. They won't, of course, reimburse the interest I'm paying on the charges; I'll eat that. And my "conference funding" will, at best, only pay for about 25% of my expenses; most of the cost of conference-going comes out of grants that I have to apply for a few times a year, even though of course if I don't get the funding and don't go to conferences I will therefore be seen as not doing my job. Oh well.
What really chafes, though, is the end of the article. Having pointed out that taking leave is necessary to get research done, and that this involves going into debt to do your job, we end up with a pollyanna conclusion that Suze Ormond says the only reason to use credit cards is to supplement "a job in a field you love, with advancement potential."
[If] the job does not pay enough for you to live on, use a credit card to get by, and work like hell to advance in your career. Soon you will be promoted, your salary will rise, and you'll be able to pay off your credit cards systematically over the next year or two. Think of it, she said, as an investment in yourself.
That sounded good to me. I'm using the semester to work like hell to advance my career, and I can pay back the credit cards when I get back onto full pay. In fact, I'll even be getting a good raise this year. The interest on $8,000? It's an investment in myself.
This is ridiculous. The author of the piece is *eleven years* past her pre-tenure sabbatical; she's not in the early stages of a career. This is the stage at which one's salary, according to Suze Ormond, is supposed to *have risen* already, so that you can pay *off* the credit cards, not rack 'em up paying the mortgage because your job expects you to produce research on your own dime. In fact, if you think about it, *graduate school* is supposed to be that early, debt-accumulation phase; once you get the assistant professor job, you ought to be paid enough to do the research. Waiting until after tenure to make a professional salary (in the author's case, about $65,000, apparently) is completely insane.
But in fact--and I've talked to other junior profs who say the same thing, it isn't just me--the assistant professor years are sometimes poorer than the graduate school years. Maybe you buy a house, or have a family. If you have young kids, probably they need to spend more hours in expensive daycare than they did in graduate school, when you taught fewer classes. Maybe now that you've finally graduated, your parents aren't supporting you any more. Certainly you're no longer taking out student loans. Perhaps after all those years of wearing grubby grad school thrift-shop clothing, you feel kind of compelled to create a semi-professional wardrobe. Maybe all that postponed dental care or those new glasses you've needed for years or the uncovered moving expenses involved in crossing a continent or needing to travel for research or conferences starts to come due. Possibly your partner, having quit her or his job to follow you, has taken a fairly substantive pay cut. Lots of factors--the end result of which is that junior profs often end up taking on debt just when they thought they were finally going to start paying it off. My debt load has gone up 400% over what I was carrying when I left graduate school, but my standard of living has gone way, way down.
Oh yes, I know: it's the life of the mind, we're supposed to be above material wants and needs. But as I've been saying for years: we aren't brains on sticks. Bodies have to get dressed, kids expect books and toys, research requires software and hardware and books and travel. Tuition costs are rising for students, state and federal governments are paying less and less of the expense of college and university education, and the faculty--like public school teachers have for years--are (increasingly? I don't know, but it certainly feels that way) holding up the institutions they work for by taking on personal debt. This may not be as true for those in the hard sciences, or the business school; on the other hand, it's even worse for adjuncts. It's a ridiculous state of affairs.
The emperor needs some damn clothes.
Posted at 10:13 PM
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