Do You Need to Be Here? Questions For the Uncertain Graduate Student
by JTrimarco
Since I dropped out of graduate school in 2005, there have been plenty of ups and downs. Among the ups are the several articles I’ve published in good magazines, the album I collaborated on with the industrial music group Experiment Haywire, and the many hours of paid and volunteer labor I’ve been able to contribute to political groups I support, including the Left Forum and the community arts center ABC No Rio.
On the other hand, I often have to take sleazy corporate temp jobs to fund the good stuff. Sometimes, when I’m sitting in front of my computer at work, color correcting another piece of meat porn that some fast-food client wants to post on billboards around the country, the alienation grows strong enough in my vegetarian’s heart that, for a moment, I miss graduate school. Then I knew where my life was supposed to go. It was going to be about ideas, theory, text.
All of which was great in the abstract. But there were problems. By taking on the responsibilities of a graduate student, I had more or less eliminated the possibility of participating deeply in politics or the arts. I could dabble, but the demands of studying combined with the need to work for a living left little time for writing, music, or social justice work.
This would have been all right if the theoretical problems with which I was struggling were among the most important things in the world to me, and if I believed that graduate study was the best way to understand them. Another way would have been if I truly wanted the position of tenured professor. In either case, the more indirect path to political action available to the scholar would have made sense. Many faculty members at the Graduate Center have chosen this path, and some have been very effective.
But the theoretical problems were not the most important thing for me, and the prospect of becoming a professor left me nonplussed. I became interested in the more concrete problems of fundraising, outreach, communications, and the development of new aesthetics, and my life has been more satisfying since I’ve begun to dedicate myself more fully to these concerns. My experiences also inform my theoretical perspective in a more integrated way than readings ever could do for me.
I’m convinced there are other graduate students who might, as I did, find life outside of academia happier and more interesting. They might derive more satisfaction from their successes and failures, when their efforts are applied to more direct political goals. And this is particularly true at the current historical moment, when ecological and economic crises seem poised to combine in dangerous, complex, even unprecedented ways, when intelligent and sophisticated activists are so urgently needed.
I do not aim to disparage higher education, nor to encourage engaged students to abandon the studies in which they’ve invested years of their lives. What I’m suggesting instead is that graduate students be prepared to ask themselves a series of questions about how their studies fit into their lives, that they answer these questions honestly, and that they take a moment to imagine what a life outside school might mean, the problems it would pose, and the opportunities it might open up.
This might be more difficult than it sounds. After all, many current graduate students have been raised almost entirely within the context of school. When people go from elementary school to high school to college to graduate school, sometimes without taking a single year off, it’s no wonder their principal skills are those of the classroom. There are other things they might be good at and find more enjoyable, but they’ve never given them an honest chance. So our society is full of pinpoint marksmen who’ve never fired a shot, moving singers who’ve never taken the stage, and tireless carpenters who’ve never hammered a nail.
Many graduate students – perhaps even most – are happy where they are. They enjoy their work and have come to grips with the sacrifices they need to make and the uncertainty of the job market ahead. I have nothing but respect for that. But there are others who may be just biding their time. Could you be one of them? I hope the questions below will help you determine the answer.
Do you read books related to your academic work in your free time?
A friend of mine has an obsession with the origins of certain concepts in political theory, especially concerning Western Marxism and anti-authoritarian thought. It’s taken her a long time to get through her orals, but she recently passed them with flying colors. When I talk to her on the phone, she often mentions the heavy writers she’s reading with enjoyment: Husserl, Spinoza, Leibniz. While the political work she managed to squeeze in on the side has made her progress slow, she clearly loves the material she’s engaging with.
This friend is a good – if perhaps extreme – example of someone who should stay in graduate school. She’s tried other things in life and she knows these books are her passion. Meanwhile, her need to customize her studies to her own specialized interests – as opposed to just following along with her department’s areas of expertise – is a strong sign of her intellectual autonomy.
On the other side of the spectrum are those who read the books only when it’s required and perhaps don’t enjoy it that much even then. I think this behavior raises questions, especially in the context of a highly scholastic middle class, many of whose members feel more comfortable in a classroom than in a workshop, office, lab, or field. For some of these people, being in school looks like the path of least resistance, despite its obvious difficulties and indignities.
If you’re one of these people, and if there’s any reason to believe you might be able to contribute to the political movements agitating for the transformation of society today – as an organizer, a writer, a fundraiser, or whatever you see yourself doing – you need to weigh your priorities on an honest scale. There might be something you haven’t tried that would feel a lot better.
Are you enthusiastic about teaching for a living?
The anthropology department, where I used to be a student, made a big deal about all the non-academic positions its graduates were getting: many went on to work as researchers, consultants, and organizers. There was also the possibility of working as an ethnographer for a marketing firm, which we used to call “going over to the dark side.”
Our professors made sure we knew that only 50% of graduates were getting tenure-track academic positions. This was good news to me because I did not particularly enjoy teaching. The idea that I could use my PhD to get these other jobs excited me. So imagine my surprise when I brought the matter up with workers at the kinds of organizations I wanted to work for, and heard a different line from them. “You’re interested in working as a housing advocate?” one organizer said. “Then you should start working with us now. You don’t need a PhD to do this stuff.”
This is not to say that there isn’t a place for some housing organizers with PhDs. But people should know that one does not necessarily need a PhD to get a good job in the nonprofit world. And one should also consider the chilling effect on the formation of social movements that occurs when tens of thousands of young people, many of them interested in social justice, take six to 10 years off at a political and historical moment when their organizing is sorely needed.
This situation is going to look different for students in the departments of computer science, engineering, biology, and so forth. It will also look different for those studying for a master’s degree, which can generally be earned in a year or two and are helpful in landing nonprofit gigs. I am speaking more directly to PhD students in the humanities and social sciences, who need to know that the one position that always requires a PhD in these fields is the increasingly scarce one of tenure-track professor. If you’re going to make all the sacrifices involved in getting this degree, you should be enthusiastic about teaching for a living.
Are you comfortable with giving up other kinds of creativity?
Most graduate students find ways to be creative within the limits of their studies. They look for an original angle on a historical question or apply an unexpected theorist to a contemporary phenomenon. But some forms of creativity don’t fit well within the limit. You may want to experiment with starting a business, organizing for a certain change in policy, or writing for a broad audience. You may get excited about the neighborhood community garden and want to dedicate time to writing grants to fund it or even to planting tomatoes in its soil. And you may want to do these things without waiting six or more years to get your degree.
Is it worth it to give up these interests in order to finish school? It depends in part on how you answered the first two questions. If there was one thing that really bothered me when I was in school it was that I felt guilty for every moment I used to pursue an outside interest. Many of my colleagues who had such interests at the beginning abandoned them so that they could focus on teaching and scholarship. For some people this will be worth it and for others it won’t.
It’s true that tenured professors have more time off than most other professionals, so if you make it to that point you might have the chance to experiment with your other interests again. But remember, only about half of the graduates in the social sciences and humanities will ever hold that position. For instance, a recent study by UC Berkely researchers found that 53% of their sample of English PhD’s were tenured professors 10 years later. So the question of how important other kinds of creativity are for you, and whether you’ll be able to make room for them while pursuing scholarly work, is key.
I loved my department when I was in school. I still think it’s among the best in the country in its field. I use the insights I gained there, in some form, every day. This is not about the quality of departments, but rather about assessing whether academic life is right for each of us. Because I’m happier and my life makes more sense, I know I did the right thing. My achievements now truly belong to me. The projects aren’t assigned in a class, but emerge from the people I know and the problems around us. The writing doesn’t stop at the professor’s desk, but is published in magazines and websites. The music gets spun in clubs. The political work has concrete results that affect people’s lives, or it fails on its own merits and I learn from that.
These projects are aimed at goals of my own choosing. They are more meaningful to me than the ones I was working towards in school, which sometimes felt like a series of hoops set up in advance for me to jump through. Now I set up my own hoops.
I know that most of you who are in school belong here. But there’s a minority that’s here by default, still avoiding full engagement with the economic and political world outside, and you might be one of them if you found it hard to answer yes to the questions above.
To these people I want to stress that the door to the Ivory Tower is not locked from the inside. You can come down to the forest below any time you like. It’s not that scary and there’s plenty of work to be done. We need more clever people like you on our side. We hope to see some of you around soon.
When he isn’t writing, James Trimarco works as the art director for the Left Forum and volunteers at ABC No Rio. You can reach him at jatrimar@yahoo.com.
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