The voice of the academic subaltern: hegemony and self-determination by Prof J Maritz Inaugural lecture at the University of South Africa, Pretoria, 10 March 2015 Introduction The subaltern cannot speak. There is no virtue in global laundry lists with "woman" as a pious item. Representation has not withered away. The female intellectual as intellectual has a circumscribed task which she must not disown with a flourish (Spivak 2003:104.) A subaltern refers to someone of a lower rank. The British army used the term to indicate someone of a junior rank, usually below the rank of captain. Within critical theory or postcolonial theory the term refers to someone within the realm of a hegemonic umbrella, who has limited or no means of access to upward mobility (or the hegemonic discourse) and is therefore understood as completely powerless and without agency. In Spivak’s essay, “Can the subaltern speak?” she argues that the subaltern cannot speak. In order to demonstrate what a subaltern is, I will use Spivak’s example. In early India an obscure tradition, called Sati, took place. It meant that when a husband dies the wife may choose to burn herself to death on the husband's funeral pyre. It was often expected of a "good wife" to take part in this tradition. In order to understand this tradition, it is important to note that at this time, widows could inherit the husbands’ property, so it made sense from a patriarchal perspective to encourage this behaviour so that sons could inherit directly. This traditional practice was taking place even under Britain's colonial rule. The British, appalled by this tradition and having a rescuing impulse, misunderstood many aspects of the tradition (they even misspelt the Sati as Suttee). They consulted local Hindu leaders and outlawed the practice. Spivak recognises that this was a good act by the British, but insists that it still reflects the problem of representation and transparency. The British could give their account of the phenomenon (representation); the Hindu leaders were, likewise, able to give their account (representation); however, the women, who were performing Sati, were never heard from. This led Spivak to conclude that, in fact, the subaltern cannot speak. In this lecture I argue that a female academic subaltern can speak, but that there are certain conditions. I will be sharing a number of personal experiences and writings. The aim is not to "navel gaze", but to provide a first-hand account from a subaltern perspective. This inaugural lecture provides me the opportunity to share with you my journey, as academic subaltern, of being on the margin and gaining a voice in academia. In doing so, I hope to illustrate to you the often salient process of the gaining entry to the world and work of academia from a nonnormative perspective and, in doing so, unsettling the normative. For most of my early childhood and adult life I have felt voiceless, a disenfranchising experience. The reasons for this lies outside the boundaries of this lecture and can be taken up on another occasion. One may ask, "What is a voice?" A voice is a sense of agency that makes us confident that we are heard and that we will impact our environment. This interrogation takes a tripartite structure. I start by providing an overview of the changes in the higher education environment. This will follow with a discussion as to why I view higher education as a hegemonic umbrella, where after I will discuss the birth and voice of the academic subaltern. Changes in the higher education environment The higher education environment has dealt with radical transformation over the past decade. This forced the character of the university to change. Delanty (2001) demonstrates the emerging role of the university according to four positions. The first being the "entrenched liberal critique", which views the university as a site of cultural reproduction and, as such, is deeply patriarchal. The "postmodern thesis" foresees the end of the state university, the university having lost its emancipatory role due to the fragmentation of knowledge and separation of research from teaching. Performativity is the chief criteria by which knowledge and worth is judged. In this market it is less about what students learn, but more about what students are worth. The "reflexivity thesis" claims that there is a new mode of knowledge based on a reflexive relationship between the user and producer of knowledge. Traditional disciplinary-based knowledge that is hierarchical, homogenous and autonomous is replaced by transdisciplinary knowledge that is fluid, accountable and reflexive. This leads to the breakdown of the theory practice dichotomy. The "globalisation thesis" focuses on the instrumentalisation of the university as it embraces market values, information technology and vocationalism as the university becomes integrated into capitalist modes of production through corporatisation, managerialism and marketisation. I contend that the academic of the 21st century experience all of the above at any given moment. The capacity of the academic to deliver in this dynamic and diverse market place is often sabotaged by the material conditions of massification that equate bigger classes with better learning. The academic curriculum and pedagogy is increasingly driven by student choice, student satisfaction surveys and teaching and learning management plans (Blackmore, 2003). The academic becomes a "piece worker" serving an expanding new professional middle class of administrators in a booming audit culture. The academic thus enters the university that, according to Hall (2014), is an anxiety producing machine that leads to academics developing an anxiety infused identity. Ball (2000:3) states that, academics experience new controls (to be more accountable) and new freedoms (to be more entrepreneurial), all the time being more visible so that contentments of stability are increasingly elusive; purposes are contradictory, motivations blurred and self-worth slippery. Academics increasingly feel more out of control by being more controlled and yet alienated individually from their core work of teaching and research as the performity exercises have less to do with their core work and more to do with image management. I now turn to higher education as a hegemonic umbrella. Higher education institutions as a hegemonic umbrella Hegemony refers to the dominance of one class or group over the other. The subordinate group accepts this control as common sense or as natural, according to Gramsci (Clohesy, Isaacs, & Sparks, 2009). Allow me a few minutes to talk about academic career trajectories and how it might fit within this hegemonic umbrella. It might be helpful to understand career trajectories in academia from the concept of "life course" or "life course theory", which examines the individual's life history as a sequence of socially defined events and roles that the individual enacts over time. These events and roles are not necessarily in a given sequence, but rather constitutes the sum total of the persons experience (Giele & Elder, 1998). The educational procession of undergraduate students through academia to tenured professorships is referred to as "the pipeline" (van Anders, 2004) and implies a lock step sequence of events that can begin as early as high school. An academic position requires a doctorate; scholars cannot normally become full professors without first serving as assistants and the associates. Each position represents a stage in the pipeline. The pipeline approach has been criticised as being outdated and not considering alternative “on-off ramps”, especially for female academics. Anders (2009) found that women self-select away from academia in response to perceived systemic barriers related to parenthood. Wolfinger, Mason and Goulden (2009) describes an additional trajectory as the" mommy track", which refers to a category of adjunct faculty who mostly teach and holds part-time positions. These positions are most often filled by women (with children). It is more readily come by and hold less burdensome workloads. These positions, however, do not offer tenure. It might, however, enable future positions by "staying in the game" (Wolfinger, Mason, & Goulden, 2009). This may be one explanation why woman continue to be underrepresented among faculty and university administrations and why academia remains by large still male dominated (Djajadikerta & Trireksani, 2010). Allow me to illustrate this through a column in the Washington Post (2013). In 1961, Phyllis Richman applied to graduate school at Harvard. She received a letter asking how she would balance a career in city planning with her "responsibilities" to her husband and possible future family. The professor writing the letter felt that "from his experience" woman found it difficult to carry out worthwhile careers and, therefore, (according to him) they tend to feel that it is a waste of time and effort spent in professional education. As you can imagine, the letter left her feeling disillusioned. Phyllis responded to his letter in the Washington Post 52 years later. Allow me to read you some excerpts from her letter: In 1961 your letter left me down but not out. While woman of my era had significant careers, many of them had to break through barriers to do so. Before your letter, it hadn’t occurred to me that marriage could hinder my acceptance at Harvard or my career. I was so discouraged by that I don’t think I ever completed the application, yet I was too intimidated to contradict you when we met face to face. At the time, I didn’t know how to begin the essay you requested. But now, two marriages, three children and a successful writing career allow me to, as you put it, "speak directly" to the concerns in your letter. I haven’t encountered woman with "feelings of waste about the time and effort spent on professional education". I have never regretted a single course. In all, I attended graduate school for dozens of years, though part time, since my responsibility to [my] husband, as you so perceptively put it, included supporting him financially through his own graduate studies, a 10 year project. Phyllis wrote for the Washington Post as a food critic for 23 years. She wrote three books and a number of dining books. She found that in writing, her gender mattered less. The current discourse of career trajectories as “pipeline”, where each position implies a lock step sequence for the next step in the academic hierarchy is thus informed and sustained by entrenched patriarchal assumptions and beliefs that veto alternative pathways and spaces to allow for identity markers such as motherhood, LGBTIQQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersexual, queer, questioning), age, race and so forth (Van Anders, 2004; Wolfinger, Mason, & Goulden, 2009). There are a number of challenges for those marginalised. One challenge is that of "gate keeping". The custodians of the group (most often men as we saw in Phyllis’s letter) define the entry criteria at stake for each new entry guard membership of a group. These custodians can thus modify the group through these entry criteria or limit the rights to occupy rare or powerful positions. Ginsberg (2011) states that nearly 70 per cent of those currently teaching in American universities are neither tenured nor are they in the tenure track. These adjunct or part-time academics are inexpensive, can be hired when needed and discarded at a whim. Being desperate does not allow part-time academics the freedom of having an opinion or a voice as this could mean that they will not be hired in future. Therefore, part-time, minority faculty, or those who arrive late or “by accident” in academia and who do not follow the traditional "pipeline" track (Van Anders, 2004), are presented on the margins of the traditional career tracks and often feel that they are not major players in the unfolding drama of professional academic careers (Gay, 2004). Those permanently employed have substantially enhanced employment conditions such as sabbatical leave, eligibility for ad hominem promotions, access to funding for training and development and contact with mentors and coaches. This access to career developmental opportunities provide for an environment where situational learning (Lave, 2011) can take place. Over time, with nurturing, recognition and support, the novice academic in the pipeline trajectory moves from the periphery to a more central and responsible role. In addition to the above advantages of permanent employment, these academics also have access membership to structures such as Council and the Senate, Faculty Boards and a myriad of committees that comprise the web of collegial governance. Exclusion from these structures is a form of political silencing. The impenetrability of these structures for novices and those on the margins sets up a system of subalternity, where the excluded are silenced, as the story of Phyllis illustrated. Women often become the subaltern in the higher education hegemonic umbrella when they are situated outside the hegemonic power structure and discourse or outside of the traditional career tracks. Subalterns are rendered mute by the "epistemic violence" of the hegemonic discourse. In order to be heard, they must adopt the thought, the reasoning and the language of the dominant group. In academia that relates largely to performance productivity in terms of the measurement of output obtained from a certain amount of input. I now turn to the birth of an academic subaltern: a journey of self-determination, my story. The birth of an academic subaltern: a journey of self-determination In December last year I had the honour of attending my two-year-old granddaughter, Catherine’s, first school play. As the Grade R class marched across the stage with their gowns to receive their "graduation" diplomas, a photo of each child appeared on the screen, along with a sentence on what they wanted to become. The list was intriguing. In my day it was a teacher, a nurse or a mother. Their list included a rock star, a coffee shop owner, an astronaut and a ninja. Porfeli and Lee (2012) posit that career development begins during childhood and unfolds as an individual establishes a sense of self at work, also known as a career identity. They mention that during childhood the response to "what will you become?" is often general and more glamorous than what will follow later. My career story will attest to this. When interviewed by a newspaper at the age of 12, after being elected mini-mayor of Johannesburg, I boldly stated that I wanted to become a doctor. The journey that followed was certainly less glamorous. My identity and choices of careers have largely been shaped by decisions that I have consciously made, by a lack of direction or by external forces not within my control. It did, however, allow for opportunities of exploration of my values and internal needs and a good deal of self-determination. My choice to get married at the age of 18 was mainly due to a lack of direction and conceding to the demands of society and the adoption of a socially acceptable role identity of wife and mother. The joy of becoming a mother was quickly extinguished by the death of my first two children. I discovered that woundedness could be both a resource and a liability. As a resource, realising personal woundedness allowed for self-awareness and self-reflectiveness and the capacity to think about and acknowledge difficult experiences and feelings. Most of all, the positive capacity to tolerate pain, disillusionment and the ability to resolve and integrate painful experiences and memories led to a greater assimilation of painful experiences. This experience later became the topic of my master’s dissertation and one publication. Having lost so much I was adamant to become a stay at home mom for my two daughters until they started school. This meant that I started my higher education career at the age of 30 when I enrolled for a four-year nursing diploma. As with Phyllis, my acceptance into professional education was marked with obstacles. The principal of the college felt that, since I am married and mother to two children, I had no hope to succeed. Like Phyllis, I also felt disillusioned and I retreated. However, I then fought back, cried and pleaded, until I was finally accepted for the nursing programme. The day I entered the college, the principal waited for me. She gave me one look and said, "You better not disappoint me.” I wish to say to her as I stand here today, "I hope you are not disappointed." I might just write her a letter, as Phyllis did. Mine would however be four children, two marriages and 20 years later. When I entered the nursing programme, I realised that I was ten or more years behind my peers and that whatever it is that I wanted to do, I needed to catch up faster than what the average student may allow themselves. It was the birth of self-determination; I was determined to catch up with my peers, but I did not have a specific vision of an academic career. Self-determination refers to the characteristic of a person that leads them to make choices and decisions based on their own preferences and interest, to monitor and regulate their own actions and to be goal orientated and self-directing. Although my choices can be attributed to my interests and preferences, I soon found that the opportunities and the dynamics presented by my external environment contributed to the degree of self-determination that I could express. By the age of 40, I had completed my master’s degree and considered myself as having "caught up". At 43, I completed my doctoral degree and considered myself as having surpassed most of my peers. At this stage, however, I found myself in the corporate sector as a full time business coach. This area was to become not only my work focus, but also my research focus over the next ten years. During this time I published 7 articles from the periphery. At this point publishing was not an altruistic act, but a determinant of the external environment (in this case academia). If researchers wish to find themselves employed, they must publish. I am grateful to Professor Marie Poggenpoel for a single conversation in the corridor in which she implored me to publish. I later left the corporate sector and started a research consultancy practice. I taught part-time at a number of universities in an attempt to gain access, much like the ‘mommy track’ woman would do. I started to apply for lecturing positions within several higher education institutions, without success. My nomadic life outside academia was less of a choice and more a result of circumstance. In an article co-authored with Paul Prinsloo titled “Queering” and "Querying Supervisory Identities in Postgraduate Education”, we reflected on our career trajectories as nomadic/alternative and queer. As nomads, we were possibly more acutely aware that our survival depended on our capital (referring to that which is valued) and the perceived worth we added to institutions. I quote: We made peace with being and becoming nomads that signified something of making peace with being constantly disenchanted. Our initial dreams and enchantment may not have lasted long. Being disenchanted seems to almost be an essential characteristic of being and becoming nomad. It is as if even when we have the brief satisfaction of receiving acknowledgement (for example an article being accepted for publication or positive feedback on a blog), that we acknowledge that these moments are few and far between. We both learned that these brief moments where we have glimpses of the initial enchantment and deep satisfaction are short-lived, and that we should not be tempted to become re-enchanted. Our survival as nomads depends on being enchanted by being and becoming nomads, to find our joys in not belonging. This alternative career trajectory mimics what Whitchurch (2006) describes as blended or unbounded professions. Blended professionals draw their identity from both professional and academic domains and work in a fluid space between the two. These professionals do, however, report contradictions in their identities and struggle with a dissonance between credibility and expectations, much as Paul and I have experienced. The performance anxiety often leads to self-doubt. The questions rhetorically asked, that is, "Am I good enough?", "Do I work hard enough?" and "Am I enough?", both produced and projected anxiety. I now turn to gaining capital, worth and a voice to speak within a hegemonic discourse. Gaining capital: letting the academic subaltern speak There is a barely conscious freedom that is prior to a true understanding of the social conditions that generate the conditions of life and there is a greater, conscious freedom that comes from knowing the constraints of one’s life (Hilgers 2009). In the following section I would like to share with you the challenges and opportunities of arriving late in academia through a nomadic route and the possible implications for those currently journeying through academia and those entrusted to "manage" academia. Along with self-determination it became essential for me to self-manage and to reconstruct and deconstruct continuously both internalising and rejecting performativity. I will illustrate this by using excerpts of another publication by Paul and me, "A Bourdieusian perspective on becoming and being a postgraduate supervisor: the role of capital" (2015). In this writing we discussed a number of types of capital and I will focus on four types, namely social capital, gender and race, age and linguistic abilities. I would, however, like to add an additional component relating to self-determination, namely the Bourdieusian concept of "habitus". "Habitus" refers to a socially acquired and conditioned system of dispositions or predispositions that are learned, often unconsciously, through one's experiences of the social environment (Salerno, 2004) and allows for permanent mutation. Hilgers (2009) contends that one acquires agency at the point where you are able to identify and control your disposition. This reflexive moment allows for a certain degree of self-determination, even if the categories of perception are themselves determined. I now turn to the forms of academic capital in a hope that current and future academics can become conscious of the controls of the academic environment. In our article Paul and I contend that gaining academic capital is the way and possibly the only way that the academic subaltern may be able to speak. Capital in the Bourdieusian sense, refers to that which is symbolically valued. Academic capital is one of the major factors contributing to the academic’s career advancement. There are a number of types of academic capital, namely publications, publications, publications … okay (!) and teaching and networking. You gain recognition and a voice via the accumulation of capital within the field. Social capital (networking) Social capital is the sum total of all your contacts in academia and provides access to valuable resources such as specialised knowledge, political power, legal protection and enhanced socioeconomic success. It would, therefore, be critical for the novice academic to start actively engaging in building social capital early in their academic careers. In the digital age, this would mean enhancing your digital footprint through online networks such as blogs, Twitter, Facebook, Friendfeed, LinkedIn and other tools. Access to capital also requires the willingness of social capital "donors" (Cornwell & Cornwell, 2008) to make available assets for which there may be neither clear nor immediate returns on investment. Coaches and mentors can act as donors and provide the support and learning opportunities needed by novice academics as well as a platform for dialogue and development of a repertoire of knowledge and understanding of different aspects of academia (Bitzer, 2010). This relationship will probably not develop out of asking a virtual stranger; the strongest relationship results from a real and often earned connection felt by both sides. Gender and race I earlier mentioned that women continue to be underrepresented among faculty (especially senior positions) and university administrations and that academia is, by and large, still male dominated. As women we need to challenge gendered institutional power and practices and encourage senior male academics to widen their circles. If we do not, our identity as academics will continue to be negated and we may remain on the margins and subaltern. Age As a first generation academic and being older limits the time biologically available for me to build capital. Multiple demands such as lecturing, research, administration and community service limit free time available for building or maximising cultural and social capital as well as the capacity to satisfy specific demands of a prolonged process of acquisition. I learned that I had to manage my time available to the maximum. It became crucial to say "no" to that which was not aligned to my career and academic objectives. Chitchatting at the office was and is still not an option. Critical dialogue and cutting edge relationships with engaged fellow academics were and still are of the utmost importance and worth every minute allocated to this endeavour. Linguistic abilities Language ability remains a commodity for exchange, as Phyllis’ story richly illustrated. Butler (1997) makes a case for language having the ability to ‘performativily constitute’ subjects (for Butler becoming a subject is a process of becoming subordinated by power with power and subjection to this power is necessary for the existence of the subject). Putting it differently, language has the ability to form the contours of social existence and as such may provide the terms by which we come to make sense of peoples actions. Speaking (and I would add writing), as a bodily act, can bring a subject into a social being. Without the necessary linguistic capital, performance becomes more difficult, especially when this becomes the code in which performance is evaluated. Being able to communicate in ways appropriate to the academic field is a critical factor for success. I refer specifically to publishing in academia. People are persuaded to follow particular norms because these norms hold the promise of recognisability. These norms do however come with their punishment or cost. The phrase “publishes or perish" or "publish and perish" is well known in academia. It is not a joke. There are probably two reasons why publishing is disliked, it is hard work and it takes time. Many people don’t dislike the writing, but the process of publishing is daunting. The fact remains that this is the largest form of capital in academia and, thus, allows for having the greatest “voice”. For me writing and publishing was not only a way of communicating findings and results and so adding to knowledge, but also a way of expressing my fears, frustrations, hopes and dreams. It provided me an opportunity to express my ideas, plans and recommendations, to explain to others what I believed and what I understood. Words provided bridges for my thoughts and through publishing also a barometer for my thoughts. It assisted me to think critically and to read widely. In doing so writing provided both social capital through engagement with discourses and building networks. Donna Haraway (in her Cyborg Manifesto) defined [cyborg] writing as "the power to survive, not on the basis of original innocence, but on the basis of seizing the tools to mark the world that marked [me] as other". (in) conclusion In this lecture I have illustrated the challenges that higher education institutions face today, along with the hegemonic umbrella that exists. I illustrated the means by which the academic subaltern may gain a voice. I argued that there were certain conditions that could assist the academic and woman to gain capital with reference to the habitus of the academic, social capital, age, gender and linguistic abilities. At this point I urge university administrators to take cognisance of those entering academia from the margins and of the support that they need. I predict those entering from the margins may be the workforce of the future. I also wish to encourage academia and woman to embrace the voice that could be gained in academia to challenge the status quo, although it remains a voice in a patriarchal domain. For those in the health sciences: we need a voice in order to advocate for our patients. We need a voice to demonstrate critical judgement. We need a voice to provide the impetus for our actions. While writing this piece and reflecting on my life, I discovered that I have not chosen the webs into which I was born or grew up, nor have I chosen my gender, race or socio-economic background and culture. I have not chosen to be confronted with death and dying so early in my life, but I have chosen to have agency over my life and my career. I have lost my original innocence, but I have also gained the will to learn and enhance myself, my family and my relationships through making the best out of every area that I have found myself in. In academia I have used the capital that I accrued to gain a voice and to speak. I have learnt that silence is not support and that I will use my voice to speak with and about the margins and those frequenting the margins. Having said this, we may want to revisit the title and my initial position as subaltern and ask “Am I still subaltern or am I now an “altern” (if a term such as this exists)?” Did the fact that I am speaking or writing change my position? Has this voice challenged the hegemonic umbrella of academia?” I guess it would depend on “if anyone has heard?” As a coach I might ask “How would I know if anyone has heard?” I would know when I see and hear any one or every one person in this audience challenge the status quo of business as usual to business unusual (Burger, 2015) and becomes an agent of change where ever they may find themselves. I wish to thank you for listening. References Ball, S. (2000). performativities and fabrications in the education economy: towards a performative society? Australian Educational Researcher, 27 (2), 1-25. Bitzer, E. 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