Skip to content
ADVERTISEMENT
Sign In
  • Sections
    • News
    • Advice
    • The Review
  • Topics
    • Data
    • Diversity, Equity, & Inclusion
    • Finance & Operations
    • International
    • Leadership & Governance
    • Teaching & Learning
    • Scholarship & Research
    • Student Success
    • Technology
    • Transitions
    • The Workplace
  • Magazine
    • Current Issue
    • Special Issues
    • Podcast: College Matters from The Chronicle
  • Newsletters
  • Events
    • Virtual Events
    • Chronicle On-The-Road
    • Professional Development
  • Ask Chron
  • Store
    • Featured Products
    • Reports
    • Data
    • Collections
    • Back Issues
  • Jobs
    • Find a Job
    • Post a Job
    • Professional Development
    • Career Resources
    • Virtual Career Fair
  • More
  • Sections
    • News
    • Advice
    • The Review
  • Topics
    • Data
    • Diversity, Equity, & Inclusion
    • Finance & Operations
    • International
    • Leadership & Governance
    • Teaching & Learning
    • Scholarship & Research
    • Student Success
    • Technology
    • Transitions
    • The Workplace
  • Magazine
    • Current Issue
    • Special Issues
    • Podcast: College Matters from The Chronicle
  • Newsletters
  • Events
    • Virtual Events
    • Chronicle On-The-Road
    • Professional Development
  • Ask Chron
  • Store
    • Featured Products
    • Reports
    • Data
    • Collections
    • Back Issues
  • Jobs
    • Find a Job
    • Post a Job
    • Professional Development
    • Career Resources
    • Virtual Career Fair
    Upcoming Events:
    College Advising
    Serving Higher Ed
    Chronicle Festival 2025
Sign In
friga-calleryh.jpg
Taylor Callery for The Chronicle

How Can We Trust Administrators?

They assure us it’s safe to return to the classroom — but there are good reasons not to believe them.

The Review
By Joseph M. Pierce September 14, 2021

I am standing at a lectern, gesturing behind me at the projection of a syllabus. I have spent hours shaping its structure and flow. On the first day of class, the syllabus is reassuring. But before I can get started, a student walks in late and sits down toward the back of the packed classroom — without a mask. Time stands still, particles suspended in the air. I can feel the this-is-not-right of 30 pairs of eyes fixed on my silhouette. “Do you have a mask?” I inquire. The student looks at me not with contempt or disdain, as I was anticipating, but bewilderment. It was as if it had never occurred to this student that the mask mandate on our campus was real. Thankfully, another student had an extra mask and handed it over. Crisis averted. Back to the syllabus.

To continue reading for FREE, please sign in.

Sign In

Or subscribe now to read with unlimited access for as low as $10/month.

Don’t have an account? Sign up now.

A free account provides you access to a limited number of free articles each month, plus newsletters, job postings, salary data, and exclusive store discounts.

Sign Up

I am standing at a lectern, gesturing behind me at the projection of a syllabus. I have spent hours shaping its structure and flow. On the first day of class, the syllabus is reassuring. But before I can get started, a student walks in late and sits down toward the back of the packed classroom — without a mask. Time stands still, particles suspended in the air. I can feel the this-is-not-right of 30 pairs of eyes fixed on my silhouette. “Do you have a mask?” I inquire. The student looks at me not with contempt or disdain, as I was anticipating, but bewilderment. It was as if it had never occurred to this student that the mask mandate on our campus was real. Thankfully, another student had an extra mask and handed it over. Crisis averted. Back to the syllabus.

Only a few days earlier, the president of Stony Brook University, Maurie McInnis, sent an email to the campus with the subject line “Looking Forward to Seeing You in Person.” (You must have received a similar email from one or several administrators.) As I was scanning this welcome-back missive, I paused over McInnis’s characterization of turning to the fall “with a renewed vigor and purpose.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but “renewed vigor and purpose” does not accurately reflect the mood among my colleagues. We are exhausted. I have heard quite a bit of apprehension, if not outright dread. I feel it myself.

I live in Brooklyn. I remember seeing bodies being loaded into ambulances at all hours, day and night. Sirens echoing down empty streets. I remember the feeling of constant insecurity, walking down a sidewalk tentatively behind a makeshift mask, rushing to the grocery store and back before curfew. I remember when we didn’t know if or when this was going to stop.

It hasn’t stopped. Maybe I am being overly cautious, paranoid even. But then again, I am a queer Indigenous person, and I am also a 19th-century-studies scholar — so I know a thing or two about epidemics. Or at least, I know how people narrate them, what policies are enacted in their wake, and how those policies affect the lives and futures of different populations. These policies always involve the management of bodies and resources, but they often regard public health as an individual concern rather than an issue of collective care. And they fail to address the core issue of trust.

Let me be clear: I love teaching. But as a scholar of queer studies, Latin American studies, and Indigenous studies, my teaching asks questions about how power functions — and I dread the precedent that we are setting by returning to campus as if everything were normal. My students know all too well that “normal” is a dangerous idea. As the Accessible Campus Action Alliance puts it, “We are against a ‘return to normal.’ We need a new, more accessible normal.”

The problem is deeper than simply failing to gauge faculty feelings on reopening and not allowing faculty to teach according to the modality that best suits their own medical, familial, or community needs. Have we learned nothing from the past year and a half? The problem is that the logic of the university appears to have no way of accounting for the fact that we are not just pure intellects — we are embodied and interconnected.

In an essay on his blog, the historian T.J. Tallie reminded us recently that returning to class in person reveals how protected we faculty members have been since the pandemic struck. Such protection was not afforded to “essential workers,” which has become a sort of euphemism for a permanent, racialized underclass. Faculty with tenure have been spared daily exposure to Covid-19, until now. Many of us are now confronting a risk that others have been forced to endure all along.

Universities like to invoke community when rolling out and justifying their policies. But invoking community and centering it are two very different things. Centering community means caring for our most vulnerable members. It means putting the lives of our kin at the core of our decisions. It means offering the means by which our sense of dread can be turned into purpose. As it stands, we are being asked to trust that people will accurately report their vaccination status; that the air ventilation will be sufficient; that the testing protocols will catch infections early enough to avoid new outbreaks; that the long-term effects of the disease are not as bad as people say, and as some evidence suggests.

In other words, there is a contradiction between the invocation of “community” and the rampant neoliberalization of the university. At its worst, the rhetoric of community uplift is completely devoid of any real, meaningful relationship with the communities most affected by the pandemic.

If our administrators truly had community in mind, the most vulnerable, those with the least amount of privilege or access to health care, child care, or housing, then they would be arguing for the most flexibility possible for the fall semester. They would be arguing that we need to implement the most vigorous plan to prevent infections of those who are immunocompromised, children, and disabled people. They would be arguing that we must have the option to choose how to best care for our communities on the terms set forth by those communities. Instead, we are left with calls for “vigor” in the face of adversity.

Over the past several months administrators have had to weigh the possibility of losing tuition dollars, grant monies, campus residence income, etc. So, in addition to risk, there is cost. What is the cost of returning to campus? And who is doing the accounting? These are real questions that need to be answered.

ADVERTISEMENT

Clearly, administrators are evaluating risks to the student body, faculty, staff, and the broader community. But they are not straightforward about how those risks inform the decisions they have made — risks that are particularly acute for marginalized and vulnerable community members. We are being asked to trust decisions made for us, not by us. How can we trust administrators if they do not transparently and honestly explain what risks they have deemed acceptable, and what costs they have deemed too great?

Without answers we are left in the position of trusting that the policies of university compliance will be sufficient to protect us and protect our communities. But a regime of compliance is not a regime of care. And until universities develop methods and policies of care, rather than compliance, we are going to keep rehashing these same debates over and over again. Our bodies will remain merely academic.

A version of this article appeared in the October 1, 2021, issue.
We welcome your thoughts and questions about this article. Please email the editors or submit a letter for publication.
Tags
Opinion Teaching & Learning
Share
  • Twitter
  • LinkedIn
  • Facebook
  • Email
About the Author
Joseph M. Pierce
Joseph M. Pierce is an associate professor of Hispanic languages and literature at Stony Brook University. He tweets @PepePierce.
ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT

More News

Protesters attend a demonstration in support of Palestinian activist Mahmoud Khalil, March 10, 2025, in New York.
First-Amendment Rights
Noncitizen Professors Testify About Chilling Effect of Others’ Detentions
Photo-based illustration of a rock preciously suspended by a rope over three beakers.
Broken Promise
U.S. Policy Made America’s Research Engine the Envy of the World. One President Could End That.
lab-costs-promo.jpg
Research Expenses
What Does It Cost to Run a Lab?
Research illustration Microscope
Dreams Deferred
How Trump’s Cuts to Science Funding Are Derailing Young Scholars’ Careers

From The Review

Vector illustration of a suited man with a pair of scissors for a tie and an American flag button on his lapel.
The Review | Opinion
A Damaging Endowment Tax Crosses the Finish Line
By Phillip Levine
University of Virginia President Jim Ryan keeps his emotions in check during a news conference, Monday, Nov. 14, 2022 in Charlottesville. Va. Authorities say three people have been killed and two others were wounded in a shooting at the University of Virginia and a student is in custody. (AP Photo/Steve Helber)
The Review | Opinion
Jim Ryan’s Resignation Is a Warning
By Robert Zaretsky
Photo-based illustration depicting a close-up image of a mouth of a young woman with the letter A over the lips and grades in the background
The Review | Opinion
When Students Want You to Change Their Grades
By James K. Beggan

Upcoming Events

07-31-Turbulent-Workday_assets v2_Plain.png
Keeping Your Institution Moving Forward in Turbulent Times
Ascendium_Housing_Plain.png
What It Really Takes to Serve Students’ Basic Needs: Housing
Lead With Insight
  • Explore Content
    • Latest News
    • Newsletters
    • Letters
    • Free Reports and Guides
    • Professional Development
    • Events
    • Chronicle Store
    • Chronicle Intelligence
    • Jobs in Higher Education
    • Post a Job
  • Know The Chronicle
    • About Us
    • Vision, Mission, Values
    • DEI at The Chronicle
    • Write for Us
    • Work at The Chronicle
    • Our Reporting Process
    • Advertise With Us
    • Brand Studio
    • Accessibility Statement
  • Account and Access
    • Manage Your Account
    • Manage Newsletters
    • Individual Subscriptions
    • Group and Institutional Access
    • Subscription & Account FAQ
  • Get Support
    • Contact Us
    • Reprints & Permissions
    • User Agreement
    • Terms and Conditions
    • Privacy Policy
    • California Privacy Policy
    • Do Not Sell My Personal Information
1255 23rd Street, N.W. Washington, D.C. 20037
© 2025 The Chronicle of Higher Education
The Chronicle of Higher Education is academe’s most trusted resource for independent journalism, career development, and forward-looking intelligence. Our readers lead, teach, learn, and innovate with insights from The Chronicle.
Follow Us
  • twitter
  • instagram
  • youtube
  • facebook
  • linkedin