In the course I teach to graduate and undergraduate students on the history of higher education, I often remind students that the organizations that herald the progressive values of inclusion, equity, and freedom can also be those most mired in static and regressive ways of thinking.
Institutions of higher education, in my opinion, are both mirrors and sources of light, reflecting the zeitgeist of American society. The people within colleges and universities, those seeking access, and those who govern them have presented a conundrum to consider in 2022. When values of inclusion and equity are challenged, institutions and individuals can resist them and create “pockets of hope.” My goal here is to present the challenges confronting institutions of higher education while discussing the strategies and processes that advance equity and belonging. In both cases, the actions and attitudes of individual scholars can have enormous implications for the structures that govern colleges and universities.
For example, Penn Law professor Amy Wax is one of many academics who has made a career of inflammatory and unfounded racist screeds toward Black students and, more recently, Asian Americans. Her recent claim that “the United States is better off with fewer Asians and less Asian immigration,” echoing sentiments that former ASA President Edward Ross uttered over a century ago, has ignited petitions from students urging her dismissal. Wax’s racism is so noxious, even the dean of Penn Law labeled her comments as “thoroughly anti-intellectual and racist.”
Yet Wax retains her position as a member of the University of Pennsylvania faculty. Her defense is academic freedom (login may be required to access the article), the tenet of academic inquiry that so many of us—myself included—embrace as the lifeblood of scholarly engagement. To engage with ideas, free from fear of retribution or retaliation, is what allowed scientific and social advancements to take root in laboratories, research arenas, and classrooms. However, this awesome freedom must be met with responsibility—to speak from data, inform public discourse, and with the humility to reflect and learn from others. Despite the opprobrium directed toward Wax from her colleagues and peers, she is still a tenured faculty member at one of the nation’s premier law schools.
Exercising Equivalent Judgement
Many who rally to Wax’s defense in the name of academic freedom and free speech are less enthused and vocal about valid academic engagement on issues of diversity, equity, and racism, and witness the hand-wringing about critical race theory and the craven efforts to silence and eliminate the systemic critique of white supremacy (login may be required to access the article). In some states, there are bills that prohibit “feel[ing] discomfort, guilt, anguish, or any other form of psychological distress on account of his or her race, color, sex, or national origin.” (One wonders if Professor Wax’s comments would meet this threshold, given her longstanding—and inaccurate—views on the academic capabilities of Black students.)
Some might argue that comments such as Wax’s are without consequence—one person’s views that should be debated in the academic marketplace. This would be a mistaken assumption. Irresponsible and racist scapegoating of Asians in the past two years has led to an increase of hate crimes against Asian Americans, such as the shooting spree in Atlanta (login may be required to access the article) in March 2021 that resulted in eight deaths echo the murder of Vincent Chin in 1982. Comments such as Wax’s enable and inspire hatred that can result in horrific violence.
Given the heightened political divides in the U.S. and worldwide, scholars and institutions have to exercise judgment equivalent to the status they hold. When professors and universities speak, people listen. Prejudicial thoughts undersigned with academic credentials empower racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semitic, and Islamophobic mindsets, with catastrophic results. For weeks, our nation has endured bomb threats to the students, staff, and faculty members at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) simultaneous to attacks on synagogues and spaces of Jewish life. Hatred finds safe harbor in the words and actions of those entrusted to research and teach. For those of us who hold these roles, we need to be equally invested in refuting and disproving the detritus emanating from some corners of the academy.
Mentorship Makes a Difference
I have been fortunate to have forged a career in academia that has lasted more than two decades. As a first-generation collegian, every milestone (and setback) since my first year in college has illuminated how institutions and the people within them can advance and fulfil dreams, while simultaneously frustrating them. My scholarly interests have centered on the significance of mentoring—the close, supportive relationships that made it possible for me to obtain a foothold in academia. My journey has been one replete with mentors invested in my development, but I am thankful for the opportunity to share in Footnotes the incomparable impact of my relationship with sociologist Charles V. Willie, whom we lost in January.
In contrast to those whose words inflamed bigotry and marginalized underrepresented voices, Dr. Willie’s legacy is one of inclusion and justice. As an aspiring graduate student, I knew nothing of Dr. Willie’s legacy—his decades working on social advancement for Black families in the academy and in social policy, his pivotal role as a court-appointed master for integration efforts in cities such as Boston and Seattle, and his advocacy for gender equality in the Episcopal Church. Dr. Willie was a demanding professor who exhorted and encouraged his scholars to write and research at the highest level—a drive and investment he had learned from his mentors at Morehouse College, particularly Benjamin Elijah Mays. To achieve this goal, he gave his scholars copious amounts of written feedback and always had his door open to help students better hone their arguments.
Dr. Willie also reminded us that excellence was in our grasp, but it wouldn’t be easy. For this particular lesson, he shared stories about his Morehouse days and one of his fellow class of 1948 classmates, Martin Luther King Jr. Dr. Willie reminded us that King’s first grades in freshman rhetoric were average. The greatest orator of the twentieth century had a humble start, but King’s ascent was rapid and linked to the support he received from his mentors and professors. This story, coupled with others like it, reminded us that we could withstand the ego blow of not having the highest initial grade and that Dr. Willie was there to support us.
Dr. Willie’s commitment to justice was inspirational to me. As I observed that same-sex couples were navigating complicated legal and social barriers in their efforts to raise families, I asked Dr. Willie if I could write a term paper analyzing same-sex families. Although it was somewhat distant from the course final, Dr. Willie was enthusiastic and encouraging, and I undertook the project. I didn’t know it at the time, but this mild scholarly rebellion in the name of equality would inspire Dr. Willie to invite me to work alongside him on the fifth edition of his landmark sociological text, A New Look at Black Families (2003) (first edition published by General Hall 1976). We forged an enduring partnership, resulting in three scholarly books and a quarter century of friendship (login may be required to access the article). Even as a tenure-track professor, I had the year-long opportunity to be mentored by Dr. Willie—by this time, my treasured friend Chuck—as a Career Enhancement Fellow for the Woodrow Wilson National Fellowship Foundation (now the Institute for Citizens and Scholars). A few years later, we returned to the Fellows Retreat as a mentorship double act, imparting what we had learned from working together to a new generation of professors.
Fostering Leaders for the New Century
Chuck’s influence on me would be an incredible story to relate on its own merits, but the fact that there are dozens, if not hundreds, of Chuck Willie’s scholars who similarly wrote, researched, and practiced with him over the more than 30 years that he served at Harvard (login may be required to access the article) is astounding. This amazing mentorship I experienced was more or less what Dr. Willie provided for decades. Even for the students he taught in one course, or guest lectured to, his impact was heartfelt and meaningful. My own research over the years has inspired me to ask: How do we create the conditions in higher education settings where more students and faculty can benefit from the mentorship of caring faculty like Dr. Willie? Furthermore, how can institutions foster structures that benefit those from diverse identities, particularly those who have been historically underrepresented and marginalized?
Institutional commitments have to match the rhetoric. In my research, I’ve learned that most colleges and universities promote relationships with faculty as a major selling point of their institutions. But in talking to faculty, I have learned that the opportunities for advancement via promotion and tenure often view mentoring as a peripheral activity, rather than essential to the institutional mission. Excellent mentors are frequently doing this work at considerable risk to their own professional development. Indeed, one nationally renowned scholar told me that their advice was “get tenure, then mentor.” This is disappointing news, especially when one considers that the new minds in the academy are often the ones that are inspirational to students.
Some institutions, however, are incorporating mentoring and sponsorship into promotion and tenure processes (login may be required to access the article) and recognizing that mentoring takes time. Providing resources—professional development, mentoring grants, and recognizing presentations and publications with the faculty members serving as mentors—incentivizes this essential and worthwhile work without penalizing those who engage in it.
Institutional commitment to equity and inclusion must recognize that historically underrepresented faculty, staff, and administrators at historically White institutions carry additional responsibilities regarding the advancement of the institution’s diversity work. It is the burden of representation—along with service on committees, advising efforts, and recruiting and mentoring students who share these underrepresented identities—that creates the conditions for what Amado Padilla termed “cultural taxation.”
My contribution to this concept is naming the benefit of extra time and relief of duties that majority faculty, staff, and administrators receive as a result of the additional work carried by their historically marginalized peers, which I call the “privilege payoff.” Institutional leaders should be aware of cultural taxation for BIPOC, queer, women, and otherwise minoritized members, as well as aware of how many majority folks are largely absent from these activities. Along with the aforementioned recognition and rewarding of mentoring and other essential services, assessing who does the work of supporting students and communities—and ensuring that the work is distributed and deemed essential for all members of the community is also important.
This must also be coupled with resources and support, so that healthy and productive developmental relationships can prosper across identity lines (such as cross-gender and cross-race mentoring relationships). Last, fostering a culture of mentoring in which all institutional members embrace mentorship as a foundational aspect of the educational experience is a responsibility of institutional leaders—and scholarly societies have a role, as well. If the rewards in our discrete fields are congruent with institutional commitments toward a culture of mentoring, the likelihood that our colleges and universities shift priorities to mentoring and developmental relationships will also increase.
Although the longevity and incalcitrant attitude of higher education can be viewed as an impediment to meaningful changes in our embrace of diversity, equity, and inclusion at colleges and universities, the current societal climate is a call to action for our institutions to stand for justice and equity—and provide the support for our students, faculty, and staff to do the teaching, research, and service that will help us heal the wounds of injustice and prejudice from which we are all suffering. Inflammatory rhetoric leads us down a troubling path with horrifying consequences; what we need are scholars and administrators who take the role of supporting and developing the next generation of leaders. More commitment and support to those who come to higher education for its liberatory power, individually and institutionally, is the remedy for colleges and universities for the new century.
Any opinions expressed in the articles in this publication are those of the author and not the American Sociological Association.
