About a year ago, I found myself unexpectedly thrust into a pitched political battle, with my career and reputation on the line. Sounds a bit melodramatic, but it’s no exaggeration.
Some might say I had it coming. I would certainly dispute that, but whether or not I was on the side of the angels, I found the situation just as stressful, the stakes just as high. Happily, I emerged from the ordeal with my career more or less intact. As for my reputation, I suppose that would depend on whom you ask. Now that the dust has settled, I’m able to reflect on the episode with some degree of objectivity and to identify the things I did — in some cases, unknowingly — that enabled me to survive. I’d like to share those observations here, on the off chance that you ever wind up in a similar fix.
Before I do, though, let me add a caveat: This advice is strictly for those who already have tenure. If you’re untenured, my advice is to avoid any sort of political entanglement with the same energy you would use to resist being thrown into a roomful of rattlesnakes — and for much the same reason. I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t had tenure, I would have been done for. You may extrapolate from that statement as you see fit.
Make as many friends as you can. Looking back, I realize that some of the most crucial steps I took to protect myself — such as making a lot of good friends at my college — were done long before I had any hint of trouble.
When trouble did come, one of the things that saved me was having a lot of friends on the campus. I didn’t cultivate those relationships over the past decade so that I’d have plenty of allies if I ever found myself in a jam. I did it because I genuinely like most of the people I work with, and because having friends at work makes my professional life more pleasant. But it turned out to be one of the most important things I could have done.
As my situation began to deteriorate, I was amazed and grateful to see how many people came to my aid. Some just lent moral support. Others provided valuable intelligence. Many offered excellent advice, having dealt with similar situations in their own careers — including some who had recently gone through much the same thing I was going through. Even several of my former supervisors spoke up on my behalf, at some political risk to themselves.
As they say, in times of crisis, you find out who your real friends are. I certainly did. And I discovered that I had more friends than I thought.
Join your faculty association. Faculty members who belong to unions already have formal support systems in place. But if you work in one of the many states where faculty members are not unionized, you need to join a professional association.
I’m not much of a joiner. But I decided a few years ago to sign on with a particular state and national faculty organization because I agreed with its aims of preserving tenure and academic freedom, and because I recognized that those concepts were under assault in many states, including my own. Once again, I didn’t join so that I would be protected personally if anything ever went wrong. But when things did go wrong, being a member of that association turned out to be critical.
Of course, most faculty associations will not take sides in disputes among faculty members, and rightly so. But if one party attempts to use administrative processes in order to achieve its goals, then the association can become involved, at least by offering advice, perhaps even the legal kind. And when the organization has a reputation for defending faculty rights — in court, if necessary — that can make a world of difference. The day I began copying my local association rep on all relevant correspondence was the day my situation began to improve.
Keep good records. Something else I’ve done over the years that turned out to be particularly important was to keep records of everything.
To be honest, I keep lots of files mostly because I’m a bit of a pack rat, hoarding old documents in drawers and boxes and moving them with me from office to office. I also have so many old e-mails that I occasionally get a note from the IT office asking me to delete some. Because of that — and because I know of situations in which e-mails have mysteriously disappeared — I’ve taken to printing any that might be important and keeping them in a file.
I never thought I’d have to use those records to defend myself, but something always told me I might need to hold onto them. It’s a good thing I did. That I survived the battle in one piece is due largely to the fact that I was able to produce certain documents when I needed them.
Be careful what you say. When you’re in the midst of a political struggle, it’s natural to feel angry and to want to lash out. At all costs, resist the urge. You must keep all of your communications civil — polite, if possible, but at least civil — even when people around you are anything but.
That applies to what you say in meetings, what you say in “private” conversations, and even what you say off the cuff to people you might think are friends. While it’s good to be able to let off steam occasionally, do not say anything to anyone that could be used against you, unless you are 100 percent certain that the person will not betray your confidence. This bit of advice means narrowing the list of your potential confidants down considerably — to your spouse or partner, and perhaps one or two of your very closest friends. With people not in those categories, don’t even make jokes about your situation. I learned that the hard way.
Being careful about what you say also applies — no, especially applies — to e-mail. Remember that, unlike what you might say aloud, e-mails are permanent records. Thus all of your electronic correspondence must adopt a civil tone, observe proper protocols, and be factually accurate. It’s OK to sit down and vent in an e-mail; it might make you feel better and help you to organize your thoughts. Just don’t send it. Instead, write multiple drafts until your tone is sufficiently measured, your facts are straight, and you haven’t said anything that’s going to come back to haunt you.
Don’t let a falsehood stand. Being civil doesn’t mean that you can’t stand up for yourself when necessary, and in a situation like the one I’ve been talking about, it might be necessary often.
You can’t allow people to say things about you that aren’t true without correcting them. One of the best pieces of advice I received came from a good friend and colleague at another institution, who reminded me that those of us who teach at colleges and universities are in the truth business. “In all good conscience,” he said, “you cannot allow a falsehood to stand.”
So I didn’t. During the conflict, a number of demonstrably false statements were made about me, including some on the official record. Although correcting that record was tedious and time-consuming, I tried to do so anyway. My revisions were not always accepted, but at least I was able to tell my side of the story.
How that helped to resolve my situation, I’m not sure. But it did a great deal of good for my self-respect and, I think, for my reputation at the college.
Keep some perspective. Before I elaborate on this final piece of advice, let me say that I hope nothing like what I’ve described ever happens to you. But if I had to make a prediction, I’d say there’s a good chance it will, at some point in your career.
Campus politics can be vicious under the best of circumstances, and they’re even more cutthroat when budgets are tight — as they probably will be for the foreseeable future. If you aspire to do anything beyond the ordinary in your work, anything more than just teaching your classes, keeping your office hours, and serving on a few meaningless committees, you risk running afoul of individuals or factions that have the ability to make your life miserable, at least for a time. But if you take the proper precautions before something goes wrong, and handle yourself well when it does, you should come through just fine.
Once you’ve reached the other side, however, you need to bear in mind that the struggle, no matter how bitter, was merely one episode in a long career. It does not have to define you. I’ve known people who, after an ordeal like mine, spent the rest of their lives plotting revenge on their perceived tormentors. That’s a waste of intellectual and emotional energy that would be better spent moving on to new and bigger things. As the old saying goes, the best revenge is living well.
You should also try not to let your experience sour you on the profession or even on your particular institution. Politics are a fact of life — certainly, of life in higher education — and anyone, anywhere can get caught up in them. Chances are, your campus is still the same basically pleasant place it was before all the ugliness. If you liked working there then, there’s no reason you can’t like it again.
Despite what happened, I still have a lot of good friends, both at the college and elsewhere. I still take pride in my work and in my professional accomplishments. I still get to do what I love every day.
Considering where I was a year ago, I have a lot to be thankful for today.
