Earlier this year, one of my students came to see me during office hours. Nice kid, good writer. He had come to talk through a piece he was working on and, after he got my notes, he thanked me and told me he wanted to become an author and teach writing to others. “I can’t think about anything else,” he said.
I was charmed by this because I remember youthful enthusiasm. He asked me for advice, and I gave it to him just as I’ve given it to others who have told me that writing, literature and language light a fire under them like nothing else. I told him that if he couldn’t think about anything else, what else could he do? If it is your dream, you can’t ignore it; you must pursue it. Such moments are among the many things I love about teaching.
And they are now in peril. The jobs of almost 200 faculty members at West Virginia University, where I teach, are now on the line. The university plans to dismiss 7 percent of its faculty and eliminate 32 majors. The humanities — and the English department — seem to be at the top of everyone’s target list.
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The numbers at stake might seem small to some. The university says these cuts — which could be finalized as early as mid-September — will affect only 434 students representing less than 2 percent of overall enrollment. I, of course, am biased. But I’m also frustrated, angry and afraid.
I am frustrated because there seems to be no recourse of consequence. The university has offered an appeals process, and I suppose that’s something. The students have raised their voices in protest and are left wondering whether their voices will be heard and respected. Whenever something like this happens in the United States, regardless of the occupation, it’s the little people who get crushed — the folks who’ve been told that all the American Dream requires is hard work and dedication. The faculty at West Virginia University has worked hard to win its positions; the English department alone is laden with honors and awards. I’m not sure whether any of that will matter.
I am angry because the students will pay the price. The ones who aren’t necessarily interested in the highest-paying job or the most popular major. The ones who are looking to be creative first and well paid, well, maybe later. I know college enrollments suffered during the pandemic. But the students will return — if someone is here to teach them. I am angry because we seem to be turning everything that celebrates our shared humanity into a business. But business is just a means to an end to a life of some measure of happiness and joy. Money is one ingredient, but hardly the only ingredient, in that recipe.
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And I’m afraid because this seems to be the way we’re going in America: Away from the things that verify and restore our humanity. Away from the skills that make us thoughtful and wise and toward those that make us either profitable or disposable. And this happens at a time when, from what I read about the actors and writers strike in Hollywood, those with the most want to nullify those with the least. To make us redundant. To propel us toward an existence run by artificial intelligence. Because when it comes to saving a dollar or two, it seems that human beings are the first to go.
I also sense a push toward a set of educational values that would make our population more pliable, agreeable and passive. So busy trying to make a living that we don’t have time to think. We cut liberal arts at our own peril. West Virginia University’s president, E. Gordon Gee, says that what is happening on campus is part of a larger trend taking place across the country. I hope he’s wrong.
My return to campus this year has not produced the same anticipation and excitement that it did last year. There is now a sense of dread. And I can see the confusion and worry on my students’ faces, particularly the graduate students whose great hopes are now replaced by anxiety and uncertainty. I am resolved to keep a “chin-up” attitude toward my job and my students. None of this is their fault.
I still believe that universities should be a place for discovery and self-discovery — and for learning more about the world while seeking a vocation. But for too many people, it seems, education is only about money. And that doesn’t bode well for our shared future.
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