http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/ Various writing by Myshele Goldberg. en-us Nucleus CMS v3.24 © Myshele Goldberg 1998-2008 Weblog http://backend.userland.com/rss http://myshelegoldberg.com/words//nucleus/nucleus2.gif http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/ http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=83 Originally published in the Scotsman.

As part of my PhD research, I’ve been interviewing academics across Scotland. One of the surprising topics that’s come up repeatedly has been labour exploitation in academia.

When most people think of exploitation, they picture cramped sweatshops filled with unskilled minimum-wage workers, not the hallowed halls of academia. But the similarities are striking. One of my informants reflected that sociology has a long history revealing the substandard working conditions of the poor – yet today, many academics put up with conditions that would seem insane applied to other occupations. Most of us keep going because we love our work, because we care about our research projects and our students – but does that make exploitation acceptable?

One of my supervisors warned me that academic work is a “24-hour-a-day” job. It’s considered normal to work during evenings, weekends, and holidays, especially for junior lecturers, postdoctoral researchers, and (perhaps especially) PhD students. The popular stereotype of carefree summers could not be further from the truth – the break from undergraduate teaching is prime time to catch up on research, writing, and fieldwork. Semester time is packed with teaching, preparation, and student support. Growing class sizes and shrinking contact hours increase the pressure on individual lecturers, often meaning that teaching-related work overflows into time set aside for research.

Meanwhile, the Research Assessment Exercise (RAE) judges academic departments on their publications and determines funding eligibility. Departments with publications in the most prestigious journals receive high scores, while those with fewer or less prestigious publications rank lower. In a perverse feedback loop, a high RAE score attracts funding, which allows for the hire of extra researchers who can produce publications without worrying about teaching. In departments that score lower on the RAE, publications must be produced by teaching staff, who are often overworked to begin with.

Adding to the stress of unlimited hours and constant pressure to publish are the short-term contracts that are becoming the norm in academia. Gone are the days when scholars could reasonably expect permanent employment within a few years of earning their PhDs. Instead, contracts for research projects and lecturing jobs usually last between six months and three years, forcing untenured academics to scramble for scarce funding when they could be focusing on their actual work. Academics accept this lack of job security as a matter of course – although, as I’m discovering in my interviews, few are happy about it.

In many ways, the situation in academia reflects the larger pattern of a neoliberal economy. Downsizing, outsourcing, turning employees into independent contractors who are endlessly interchangeable – the now-familiar patterns of manufacturing and other industries are creeping into higher education at just the time when innovation, creativity, interdisciplinary cooperation, and long-term thinking are most needed. The social and environmental crises we face cannot be solved through six-month contracts, yet those in an important position to develop solutions are hampered by a system that values profitability above all.

So what’s the answer? I wish I knew. But I do know that we need to start by asking what universities are for, then figuring out how they can best fulfil that role. Whatever the end goal, labour exploitation seems a poor strategy for accomplishing anything worthwhile. ]]> Column http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=83 Wed, 21 May 2008 06:00:00 +0200 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=82 Originally published in the Scotsman.

There aren’t many masters courses that inspire graduates to return and help mentor new students, and even fewer where they volunteer for the unglamorous tasks of fundraising, advertising, and course development. But I’ve just spent a weekend with more than a dozen graduates and teachers from the Centre for Human Ecology, organizing exactly that. I finished the course in 2005, and am now a member of the Board of Directors.

The CHE’s main focus is helping people develop the practical, intellectual, and emotional skills to pursue social justice and ecological sustainability – to “be the change” in a challenging world. We offer short courses, educational events, and networking, and the masters course is our largest ongoing project. Although delivered through a mainstream university, the course challenges conventional ideas about learning. An interdisciplinary focus on experiential learning, personal development, and group process encourages students to ask difficult questions and find creative solutions.

Now the CHE itself is exploring creative solutions for issues that are affecting all of higher education. With increasing student numbers and shrinking budgets, Scottish universities are scrambling to cut costs, often sacrificing educational quality for financial expedience. Typical approaches include cutting contact hours, increasing class sizes, and techno fixes – all of which have a negative impact on student experience. There have been some positive developments as well, like the increase of cross-disciplinary courses, but these don’t remove the growing pressure on lecturers and tutors to do more with less.

All courses that lack outside sponsorship are struggling, and the masters in Human Ecology is more resource-intensive than most. Teaching takes place in workshops that last two to seven days. Class size is limited to the number of students that can reasonably have a group discussion, and there is a strong emphasis on building an effective “learning community.” The course is team-led, team-taught, and heavily reliant on guest speakers, many of whom contribute their time for free – but an enormous amount of energy goes into crafting a coherent educational experience from diverse perspectives. It’s a course that changes and evolves each year, requiring intensive preparation and development work, but there is a fifteen-year track record proving the effectiveness of the approach.

This year, a group of graduates from the past six years was invited on an intensive working weekend to reflect on their experience of the course, and contribute to its ongoing evolution. Where many courses are being forced to cut corners in order to survive, we’re hoping to draw on the enthusiasm and dedication of graduates to bridge the gap between student needs and university funds. The weekend followed a similar approach to the course itself, moving freely between “head, heart, and hand.” We discussed emotional issues, engaged in heavy intellectual work, and took collective responsibility for the practical side of things. Of course, it wasn’t all work – we also made music together, walked in the sunshine, and chatted with friends old and new. Somehow, the different elements clicked into place, and we finished the weekend with clear plans for action.

There is a lot of work ahead to implement those plans, but the weekend has reaffirmed that it’s possible. As we were reminded at one point, the Centre for Human Ecology does not represent the whole solution, either to the problems facing universities or those facing the world at large – but it does represent one small part of the solution, and I’m glad to be involved.]]> Column http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=82 Wed, 23 Apr 2008 06:00:00 +0200 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=81 Originally published in the Scotsman.

In order to carry out fieldwork for my PhD, I’ve had to apply for clearance from my department’s Ethics Committee. I never thought about it much before, because I’ve never worked with children or “vulnerable” populations. But my study involves students in my own department, so I need to show there are no conflicting interests.

Unsurprisingly, the ethics paperwork was less about rigorous moral questioning, and more about protecting participants (and protecting the university from lawsuits). Will participants be risking physical danger or psychological distress? Will their information be kept confidential and anonymous? Does the project require highly personal information? Does it involve deception? Ticking the right boxes seems to ensure approval, implying that ethical research simply means avoiding immediate harm.

While it’s comforting to know there are oversight structures in place to protect participants, those structures lack space to consider wider ethical questions. Ethics paperwork is usually seen as just another hoop to jump through, disconnected from the actual work of research. But there’s very little else it could be, in the standardized structures of university bureaucracy.

For instance, paperwork cannot easily capture fundamental questions about the power relationships embodied in the research process, or the wider social role of a project or discipline. Red tape cannot easily quantify who benefits from the outcomes of research, and who suffers. But what we choose to study, how we choose to learn, and who we choose to share our knowledge with can have wide-reaching social effects. The ambiguity of these issues makes them crucial to address through self-reflection and honest conversation. The answers may never tick any boxes on an ethics form, but they will go well beyond protecting the immediate safety of participants.

In many ways, research can be used as a strategic tool for positive social change – but some scholars would cringe at that description. Better to remain morally neutral, they would argue, to seek knowledge for its own sake and avoid making value judgements about society. But the decision to avoid value judgements is itself a moral position, implicitly giving consent to the status quo. C. Wright Mills, one of sociology’s great pioneers, wrote in 1959 that “anyone who spends his life studying society and publishing the results is acting morally and usually politically as well.”

To me, these are the kinds of issues at stake when we talk about research ethics – if scholars don’t give careful thought to how we work and how our work may be used, who will? I’m lucky that my department takes these issues seriously and gives them more than passing mention. But leaving such fundamental questions up to luck seems irresponsible.

It comes as no surprise, though. Considering ethics through the tunnel-vision of paperwork reflects a much deeper pattern of fragmentation in society at large. Each of us is encouraged to focus on our own little life, without necessarily seeing how it relates to the lives around us, or to the history that has brought us here and the future we’re building each day. In some ways, fragmentation makes life in the modern world bearable, just as bureaucracy allows large universities to exist.

Still, I’m hoping to mend some of that fragmentation in my project by asking difficult questions. I want to open the conversation, create space to talk about real ethical issues, try to understand why we pursue knowledge, and what we hope for when we release it into the world. I’m not sure what will come out of those conversations, but I know it will be a lot more interesting than ethics paperwork.]]> Column http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=81 Wed, 19 Mar 2008 13:26:18 +0200 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=80 (note: I will be adding links to relevant news stories soon)

Yesterday, one of my students asked why I moved to Scotland. I told her that Scotland holds the promise of positive change for me -- America has already gone off the rails, and I don't know what I can do. Here in Scotland, things aren't so bad yet. I feel there's space for me to make a difference here, however small it might be. This is a country where the future might be better than the past.

But during the last few months, there's been a shift. For the first time in my adult life, I felt I could finally relax -- a little bit -- about the future of my own country. The campaign of Barack Obama inspired me, and gave me hope for a brighter future. His overwhelming grassroots success allowed me to release the breath I didn't know I was holding. For the first time in my adult life, I felt that I might be able to return to my own country someday.

That brief moment of untarnished hope has now vanished, replaced again by a cold, watchful fear. As we approached the crucial March 4th primaries in Texas and Ohio, the campaign tactics of Hillary Clinton became ever more cruel, nasty, and divisive. By spreading lies and rumours to discredit Obama in the days before the primary, Clinton has proven that truth means little in her quest for power. By feigning doubt about Obama's religious beliefs and making him appear "blacker" in a television ad, Clinton has appealed to racism and religious intolerance rather than unity and decency. By ranking his "experience" not only below her own, but below that of their mutual Republican foe, Clinton showed where her true loyalty lies: not to country or party, but to the pursuit of her own power.

The mainstream media has lapped it up, of course. Conflict sells. One candidate represents honour, integrity, and respect. The other represents deception, corruption, and ruthlessness. Like oil and water, they will not mix. Clinton has shown she's willing to play dirty, and like schoolchildren on the playground, media and Republicans have circled to egg her on. I have no doubt that Obama is strong enough to withstand her attacks -- but is America strong enough?

Just as Obama's message of hope and empowerment has brought out the best in people, often getting involved in the political process for the first time, Clinton's tactics have brought out the worst. There have been widespread reports of Republicans voting for Clinton, simply to divide the party. There have been allegations of vote fraud in Ohio, where voters have been turned away at the polls after absentee ballots were sent in their names, without their consent. Even if these acts have nothing to do with the official Clinton campaign, they follow its ethos and attitude perfectly. Without any outside help at all, Clinton herself is doing a very good job at dividing the party, and the nation.

And now there are news reports that Hillary Clinton is "hinting" at a shared ticket with Obama. For weeks she's been attacking him, mocking his approach and his supporters, spreading lies and malicious rumours.... And now she wants to work with him? She knows she can't get the nomination on her own, so she hopes to simultaneously discredit and take advantage of Obama's groundswell of support. I fear that most Americans are not sophisticated enough to see what's happening, with the media distortion and fearmongering and lies. We've become a nation that has trouble seeing the truth -- and Clinton is taking advantage of our weakness to keep us dependent and fearful, rather than reminding us of our strengths to empower and emancipate us.

This, more than anything else of the past few weeks, has turned my dislike of Hillary Clinton into outright disgust. So I've begun to fear for my country again. Hillary Clinton will not go down without a fight, and I fear she'll take America with her. The cracks that she opens with Obama will be dangerously inviting to those who wish to tear the country apart for their own gain -- including, apparently, the Clintons themselves. I'm not sure our weary national flesh, weakened by the continual abuses of the Bush administration, can survive another rape.

I hope the momentum that Obama has built so far will continue to grow, and continue to inspire Americans who will not be fooled -- and I hope it will be strong enough to withstand the assault of dirty tricks and treachery on the horizon. This is only the beginning of a very ugly struggle, and I hope my country can make it out the other side in one piece. As the world stands on the brink of looming crises wrought by our arrogant lifestyles and beliefs, the next few months in American politics could be a tipping point in the global struggle for transformation -- for good or ill.

Certainly, something has changed in me. After a brief glimpse, dreaming, of the distant morning, I've awoken again to face the dark and dangerous night ahead. I hope we can survive until sunrise. ]]> Political http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=80 Fri, 7 Mar 2008 02:12:40 +0100 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=79 Originally published in the Scotsman.

The recent shooting spree at Northern Illinois University has left me shaken. Not because I’m from Illinois, but because the shooter was a 27-year-old former sociology postgraduate student. Next month, I will be a 27-year-old sociology postgraduate student.

Any display of violence is disturbing, but the sociology connection seems to make this one particularly gruesome. Sociologists are supposed to be the ones examining things like this, explaining the troubling social phenomena, making sense of a seemingly chaotic social world. Whether we’re supposed to feel numb and detached and “objective,” or whether it tears our souls apart to see the hideous injustice of the world, sociologists make the chaos that little bit more orderly. Sociologists are not supposed take guns into universities and kill people.

Of course, the violence most likely had nothing to do with sociology. It was probably the farthest thing from the killer’s mind. But that doesn’t change the fact that he had studied it. To destroy the lives of other human beings having studied the bonds that hold us together, having studied our common humanity... That’s what horrifies me the most.

According to news reports, the killer was a good student who was interested in social justice and fair treatment in the prison system. After studying sociology at Northern Illinois, he transferred to a social work course at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. Some of my friends speculate that looking too closely at humanity’s dark side might have pushed him over the edge. And while I understand the despair that can arise from studying social injustice, I just can’t wrap my head around the kind of moral calculation that says becoming a mass-murderer would somehow correct or negate or appropriately retaliate for the world’s injustice.

Most reports suggest that the killer’s rampage was a result of him ceasing to take his medication, implying that it was a simple matter of a “disturbed individual” venting aggression on innocent bystanders. This kind of explanation also seems incomplete. There are plenty of depressed, disturbed, and even psychotic individuals in this world. Most of them do not go on shooting sprees. There are plenty of stressed-out students overwhelmed by the pressures of university life. Most do not unleash their frustrations through murder. So what could have caused this student to snap?

We’ll probably never know for sure, but brushing off some individuals as “disturbed” or “evil” ignores what is obviously a deep-rooted cultural problem in America. From Virginia to Louisiana to Colorado – and now Illinois – young people have seen fit to murder their classmates in deadly shooting sprees. The inevitable bickering over gun laws, while understandable, ignores the deeper questions about American culture that might shed some light on these tragedies.

One thought-provoking explanation comes from Mark Ames, author of Going Postal, a study of workplace and school violence in America. In an article on the news website AlterNet, Ames suggests that recent university shootings grow out of the hopelessness and “existential terror” experienced in middle America. In a culture that worships big winners, there is little consolation for those who carve out mediocre lives, numbed by anti-depressants and consumerism. While the full picture of the latest gunman’s life remains hazy, the broad strokes suggest that he occupied “a very familiar, flat sort of American Hell.”

This kind of explanation, combined with the others, does not excuse the killer’s reprehensible actions – but it does take us closer to understanding them. It’s a dark sort of irony that leaves sociologists to find order in the chaos wrought by one of their own. ]]> Column http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=79 Wed, 20 Feb 2008 06:00:00 +0100 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=78
Eventually I learned that politics and oppression are inseparable, and learned how the political process works. I watched the 2000 elections during my year abroad, staring aghast at television screens in Edinburgh, Scotland. I remember joking with my friends, wondering whether I could apply for political asylum in the UK.

It’s been a long seven years. I live in Scotland now, in part because I love it, and in part because I no longer feel welcome in my own country. I feel like the US has gone off the rails – better to start fresh in a small country like Scotland, where positive change is still possible.

In the past, I diligently voted (absentee) for Gore and Kerry. I smiled and shook my head at the hopeless idealism of Kucinich and those who would vote for him. When I was living in the US, I attended the anti-war rallies, marched in the streets, had heated conversations with my friends and denounced older relatives for their indifference. I wrote letters and organized and read the appropriate books. But in the end, I left, because I no longer felt that I could make a difference. I had given up on America.

In recent months, that began to change. For the first time, I saw a major candidate I actually agreed with – not necessarily on all issues, but on attitude. I saw a candidate who’s feeding the politics of hope, not the politics of fear. Watching Obama’s speeches on YouTube is inspirational. His energy and passion seems grounded in experience of the real world – infinitely more valuable than experience of Washington’s petty games. For the first time in my adult life, I’m watching a political race that could actually lead to positive change.

I don’t know if I’ll return to America, but if Barack Obama wins the presidency, I won’t have to be ashamed anymore. I believe that Obama will restore America’s standing in the world, and help us recover respect from the international community. And more importantly, I believe that Obama will help make America fit for human habitation again – not just for the rich, but for everyone.

He seems to grasp the structural causes of injustice, with a passion to change those structures, rather than simply treating the symptoms. As a sociologist, I believe this is the key to enduring social transformation. If Obama wins the presidency, maybe I won’t have to worry about the fate of my friends’ children anymore, maybe I can feel like they have a future.

Even if Obama is just as corrupt and useless as the other candidates, he has given me a priceless gift – a moment of hope. He’s also given me the kind of pride I’ve never experienced before. I’ll be watching the elections from Scotland once again, but for the first time, I’ll be dreaming of a better world.]]> Political http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=78 Wed, 30 Jan 2008 11:47:01 +0100 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=77 Originally published in the Scotsman.

It’s easy to forget how long a road has been, until turning around to see its beginning on the far-off horizon. Marking first-year essays has reminded me just how far I’ve travelled since my own first year of university, nearly ten years ago.

There are simple, practical habits the students have not learned yet. Many forgot to put their name and the page number on every sheet, in case one gets lost. Most did not properly format quotations and bibliographies. Some essays were not double-spaced, so there wasn’t enough room for comments. Despite several talks on the subject, many students still cited Wikipedia and other internet sites that are inappropriate for academic essays. Almost all of the students failed to consistently reference ideas that were not their own. Still, these bad habits are easy enough to correct by insisting they read the style-sheet they were given at the beginning of the year.

Grammatical conventions are even more obvious but are also relatively easy to correct. Many students haven’t quite got the hang of commas, apostrophes, and other punctuation marks. Some write sentences that are too long; some too short. A few seem to have missed the idea of paragraphs. Others mix up singular and plural forms of words, or use words incorrectly. Many would benefit from using a dictionary. But with a bit of practice, they’ll be fine.

The frustrating moments come with mistakes that are harder to quantify. For instance, most of the first-years don’t grasp the difference between describing and explaining. They had to write about particular injustices in society, and many did a very good job describing those injustices – but very few managed to offer explanations for how and why they might exist. They repeated examples from lectures and books without stopping to consider how they might be linked, or whether they were relevant to their specific essay topic. Some wrote about contradictory ideas without discussing the paradox.

Sociology is a subject full of paradox, offering rich opportunities for critical analysis and big questions. But most of the first-years have not yet developed the intellectual skills to grapple with its ideas. To me, this is the heart of what university education is all about: helping students move from seeing isolated phenomena to seeing patterns, and understanding their own place in those patterns. Whether we’re talking about politics, business, science, literature, or any other subject, it’s a long, slow process to develop the mental discipline and flexibility to understand the world more deeply.

Suddenly, it makes sense that higher education is such a drawn-out process. Most of my students’ mistakes were common for me when I started in 1998. But over time, countless teachers gently corrected my blunders and helped me understand the habits of mind required in academia. It did not happen in one great leap, but rather in hundreds of tiny steps, painstakingly making my way across the confusing terrain of cultural patterns. There was no single great leader to follow, only pointed interventions by temporary guides. There was no secret formula or exact path to intellectual growth. I had to develop my own style, choosing among the practices I saw modeled by different teachers along the way. Perhaps even more important than correcting my mistakes, university teachers have given me examples to choose from of what kind of academic I want to be.

After marking forty first-year essays, I have an overwhelming sense of gratitude for all of the university teachers who have helped me. I hope that I can be some small help to the students I’m working with, and help the pattern continue. ]]> Column http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=77 Wed, 16 Jan 2008 04:35:00 +0100 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=31 (original version August 2004 - the version below was published in January 2008 in "If, a Journal of Spiritual Exploration")

The Alumni Magazine bore an unexpected caption on the front cover. “Leap of Faiths: With 57 religious groups on campus, USC leads the way in defining the multifaith university.”

Multifaith. It was a word I’d never heard my freshman year. As a Pagan I never felt particularly welcomed on the sunny Southern California campus, but most people left my beliefs alone. That all changed during a week-long Christian festival in my second semester. With aggressive proselytizing, widespread flyering, and evangelical events all over campus, I felt like a trapped animal. I could not go anywhere without someone waving a Bible in my face; even the insides of bathroom stalls were covered with Christian propaganda. Their attacks on other religions were subtle but unmistakable. What was next, witch burnings? From the first day, I was terrified.

I sought refuge with Agnostic friends, but they didn’t understand why I was so upset. They were Agnostic out of cynicism; I was Pagan from a fragile sense of wonder. I had kept my spirituality secret for six years, and sharing it was a sensitive matter. Attacks from the Christians were more painful than they could imagine.

I needed other Pagans. And more than that, Pagans needed other Pagans – there had to be others on a campus of 30,000 students. But Witchy types are notoriously secretive, and somebody had to bring them together. Rather than sitting around feeling sorry for myself, I made plans to form a campus group. When I returned for my sophomore year, I was energized and optimistic.

With the encouragement of supportive friends, I started advertising, posting bright purple flyers that said “CALLING ALL PAGANS!” in letters that filled the page, guaranteed to attract attention. Unfortunately, they attracted the attention of campus evangelicals. In the mail room of my dorm, I watched a Christian girl tear down my handiwork. When I asked her about it, she said that everyone has the right to be saved by God, and that I was taking away their salvation. I reasoned that everyone has a right to choose their own religion, but there was no arguing with her. She spoke with an edge of fanaticism in her voice, a glint of zealotry in her eye. I was not Christian, and that was reason enough to hate me and to ignore everything I stood for.

The encounter left me even more shaken than the Christian festival the year before – and more determined to create a safe space for Pagans. I wasn’t going to let intolerance and intimidation scare me away. Most of my 500 flyers were gone within a few days, but my inbox was full of e-mails. More than twenty students had responded – I’d never even seen twenty Pagans before!

Suddenly, everything took off. I came up with a name for the group: Students Of Ancient Religions, SOAR for short. While drafting a constitution, I was interviewed for the student newspaper, and the resulting article attracted even more attention. Before long, there were over forty people on the e-mail list. A theatre professor offered to be our faculty advisor, and soon we met with the Dean of Religious Life. Rabbi Laemmle was dedicated to creating space for all faiths on campus, and she gave us her complete support. After the animosity I’d felt from the Christians, it set my mind at ease to know that someone believed in what we were doing.

Our first meeting attracted about 25 people, and I felt like a teacher on the first day of school. After introducing ourselves and talking about our experiences with Paganism, we decided to hold biweekly meetings. Members would take turns sharing their knowledge about topics of interest, from ancient mythology to runes to ritual design. Nobody was an expert on everything, but we were all eager to learn from each other.

The following weekend, we held our first SOAR ritual at our advisor’s house, in honor of the autumn equinox. We sang and chanted together in a circle of candles, amongst altars with symbols of the season. Looking around the circle at the excited faces lit by flickering firelight, I knew that it was really happening - we were truly forming a Pagan community. Over the next few months we celebrated the lunar cycles and Pagan holidays, and our meetings grew more and more focused. We went camping together, took field trips to “Witchy” shops, made crafts to sell for fundraising, and attended workshops and celebrations led by local Pagan groups.

Meanwhile, I was suddenly a spokesperson for Paganism. I was interviewed for student websites, and classmates had dozens of questions. I was glad for the opportunity to speak openly about my spirituality. At the Religious Diversity Fair, SOAR was assigned a table next to a Born-Again Christian group, and the hostility was palpable – but passers-by were encouraging. We braced ourselves for hate mail after displaying a colorful banner celebrating the Goddess – but none came. I began to feel the first stirrings of acceptance.

January brought the first-ever Multifaith Service, where members of different religious groups on campus shared elements of their practice. Hindu and Sikh students led meditations, Bahá’í students performed an interpretive dance, a Gospel choir sang hymns, Catholic students led a call-and-response prayer, Christian groups read Bible passages, a Buddhist student performed a magic show based on the life of Siddhartha Gutama, Jews offered a prayer in Hebrew, and we Pagans led a participatory chant and song. To see members of diverse religious groups sharing each other’s traditions in an attitude of respect and openness was inspirational. Even some of the Christians sang about the Goddess with us. For the first time, I did not feel defensive around them.

The spring Religious Diversity Fair held a much more positive atmosphere than the fall one, and it seemed that the Multifaith Service had opened communication between different groups. There was still a tense attitude with many Christian organizations, but we formed alliances with the Buddhist, Bahá’í, and Atheist groups. A Buddhist student came to one of our meetings to teach meditation, and we shared the similarities of our beliefs. SOAR members were deepening our own understanding of what it meant to be Pagan, with the incredible privilege of expanding our horizons to learn about other spiritualities.

Later in the year, we returned from a Spring Break retreat to find hateful postings on our message board, calling us dirty names. I reported the postings to campus police and e-mailed the student newspaper about it. A front-page article the following week denounced hate crimes towards Pagans, Catholics, Muslims, and Jews. It was clear that discrimination was being taken seriously – for all religions.

The strength of the budding multifaith community was tested on September 11th, 2001. Suddenly, interfaith connections weren’t just enriching, they were vital. On the day after the attacks, a vigil was held at the center of campus, and it didn’t matter what deities anyone prayed to. Two days later, the main auditorium was packed to overflowing for a multifaith service. Personal differences were put aside, and everyone banded together in a spirit of common grief. When our turn came, five Pagans looked into thousands of tear-stained faces. We sang, we are alive as the earth is alive, we have the power to stand for our freedom, if we have courage we can be healers, like the sun we shall rise. Catholics, Mormons, Buddhists, everyone sang with us. For a brief moment it felt as though we could all be healers, of ourselves and the world around us.

Gently, we continued to nourish our connections with other religious groups. With the trajectory of world events, we became increasingly concerned with tolerance and discourse, which led to the formation of a new Interfaith Coalition for Peace and Understanding. The following spring, the multifaith service had grown into a week-long festival, and graduation events included a multifaith Baccalaureate ceremony. What was once the exclusive privilege of monotheistic students was now open to all, and four SOAR members carried our colorful banner alongside graduating students from twenty other religious groups. In the midst of the ceremony, I realized that we had been successful. Even if SOAR faded away after I left, I felt that USC was finally a safe place for Pagan students.

Two years later, the alumni magazine delivered the news that a Pagan organization was still active, as it remains to this day. It is an integral part of a diverse and tolerant religious community, fostered by the efforts of Rabbi Laemmle and students from across the religious spectrum. Aggressive proselytizing is no longer allowed at USC, and each campus religious group must agree to respect the beliefs and practices of other groups. A student-run Interfaith Council meets throughout the year, and a variety of events allow religious students (including Atheists) to learn about each other.

When I set out to connect with other Pagan students, I never imagined I’d become part of a wider religious community. But by sowing the seeds I felt called to nurture, I was able to contribute to the planting of a much wider garden. By pursuing my own spirituality with integrity and approaching other groups with an open mind, I discovered that our commonalities were more important than our differences. I hope that USC’s multifaith community continues to deepen and grow, providing a safe space for students of all faiths. ]]> Narratives http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=31 Wed, 5 Dec 2007 23:05:00 +0100 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=76 Originally published in the Scotsman.

Across Scotland, first-year students are terrified: it’s essay-writing season.

I’ve been receiving panicked e-mails from my undergrads, seeking clarification of the assignment and tips on how to approach their first 2000-word essay. I’m a bit worried about the students who haven’t asked for help, because essay-writing is not a straightforward endeavour.

There’s an assumption that it’s exclusively about the topic at hand – if students understand a topic well enough, they will write good essays. Of course, it’s tough to produce quality without good ingredients, but that’s only one element of the process. Without good general writing skills, even well-researched essays will be mediocre at best.

The UK’s lack of basic academic writing courses never ceases to amaze me. Scottish universities do not require a writing module as part of a degree, yet every degree requires students to write academic essays. They are somehow expected to already know how to write – but any lecturer or tutor in any discipline can see that’s not the case. Only a few universities in Scotland offer optional workshops for undergraduates who want to improve their writing skills. From web descriptions where they are available, the sessions seem to be short, one-off seminars rather than ongoing workshops.

Apart from being unfair to the students, this poses a real problem for overstretched academic departments. They recognise the importance of writing skills, but struggle to find the time to help students develop them – even a brief introduction to essay-writing takes away from “real” course material. Comments on returned essays give practical guidance for improvement, but it’s months before students have another assignment. And even if there was more time to dedicate to re-working essays, most lecturers and tutors are not equipped to teach writing beyond the conventions of their disciplines.

The result is that students get hasty and piecemeal “top tips” from different subjects, rather than a coherent, well-developed programme with the foundations of good academic writing across disciplines.

Most American universities do have these kinds of programmes, with compulsory writing courses for all students, regardless of their main subject. Usually small and workshop-based, the courses help students understand what’s expected in academic writing. They present an opportunity to develop skills with the help of a dedicated writing instructor (usually a trained PhD student), and provide space to polish essays for other courses. In my experience, they were the most valuable courses I took during undergrad, with the most practical benefit. From being a mystery, essay-writing became a craft.

Ironically, universities across the UK are adopting superficial elements of the American system, in hopes of gaining the coveted “world-class” status. Switching from terms to semesters, charging tuition fees, encouraging alumni donations… Yet they ignore elements that would actually improve the quality of student learning and increase the skill level of workers in the British economy.

With the recent emphasis on “transferable skills,” it’s surprising to see this glaring oversight. In the information economy, effective written communication is the ultimate transferable skill. I know that many students learn to write well, despite the lack of instruction – but it seems strange to leave such an important skill up to chance.

Of course, it’s unrealistic to suggest setting up widespread writing courses overnight. But most universities already have student support centres that organise exam-preparation sessions. It would not be much of a leap to consider piloting a few optional writing workshops – even better if they were ongoing, interdisciplinary, and based around real assignments. I would predict that anything to help ease their fears and improve their writing would be embraced with a sigh of relief from staff and students alike.]]> Column http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=76 Wed, 5 Dec 2007 21:50:21 +0100 http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=75 Activists have an almost cult-like dedication to the idea of raising consciousness. If people are aware of the world’s problems, the logic seems to go, they will be inspired to do something to help. And then activists bemoan the apathy of the masses when they realise that most people are very well aware of the problems, but aren’t the least bit interested in doing anything to solve them – especially not when hounded by neo-Puritanical activists who criticise their hard-earned pleasures and prophesy fiery end-times.

It is the logic of the abuser and the addict. If we can force people to look at the problems, if we hit them over the head with enough terrifying information, we can force them to care, we can force them to behave as we want them to. Never mind that this tactic on its own has never worked before – if we do more of it, maybe it will work now.

But consciousness is not enough to save the world.

Consciousness is only one part of the process by which people decide to change their lives. We can think of raising consciousness as awakening from a kind of sleep, an awakening to clear vision. But once awake, what is the force that motivates a person to get up, prepare themselves, and go out into the world to do the work that needs to be done? After all, it’s very easy to pull the covers over our heads and wait for the world to change on its own. In a world under siege, it takes enormous courage to get out of our metaphorical beds and face the day. Fear is not enough.

Someplace between waking up and taking action, there is social conscience – the impulse for moral action on a social scale. Where individual conscience inspires charity, social conscience inspires transformation – changing the social structures that cause injustice. It links awareness of a problem with a sense of connection to that problem, not just out of sympathy for suffering, but through an understanding of wider social systems. More importantly, it links a sense of responsibility with a sense of possibility – that things can change for the better, and that one person can make a difference in a clear and tangible way. All these elements combine to motivate thoughtful, sustained action, not out of guilt or fear or self-interest, but out of moral concern and desire to make a difference.

Arguably, any positive changes in behaviour are a good thing, no matter people’s reasons behind them. But meaningful, long-term transformation is almost always preceded by a shift in attitudes and perceptions. A deepening of social conscience is the most important part of that shift – which is why I’ve chosen to dedicate my PhD study to this grossly under-researched phenomenon.

Some people have written about the social conscience, the group conscience, the sense of moral obligation arising from public opinion. I would like to turn this idea on its head. Yes, social conscience can be seen as a collective phenomenon, where the sum total of each individual conscience is democratically joined together, yielding the social conscience, the collective sense of right and wrong. But social conscience can also be seen as a deeply personal phenomenon, where an individual feels a connection to the wider social whole, and a corresponding sense of moral responsibility. In this conception, intellectual understanding forms only one small part of a person’s social conscience – it is mostly a feeling. Consciousness helps direct social conscience, by helping a person understand what the problems are and how they may be solved, but without social conscience, increasing awareness of social problems can lead only to fear and despair.

So what can activists do to engage people’s social conscience, rather than appealing to anger or fear? I’ll write in more depth about this soon, but for now I think the most important thing is to focus on can rather than should or must (or shouldn’t, or mustn’t). The former implies a free choice, empowerment, and hope; the latter are coercive, pessimistic, and evocative of guilt.

It seems obvious, but it’s a point that many activists overlook: people will not make changes in their lives unless they believe it’s worthwhile to do so, with a practical vision in mind, and a strong sense that it’s personally possible (in terms of money, time, skills, contacts, etc). It’s easy to make assumptions about the balance of people’s values, but some choices are simply out of reach for people. If activists can help bring those choices within reach – accepting that people might choose to reject them for any number of reasons – then perhaps fruitful relationships can grow.

It’s about empowerment, relevance, and positive vision. Nobody likes being told what to do – but most people do appreciate hearing about new choices in a changing world. Dogmatic religion, consumer capitalism, and corrupt politicians are very good at offering choices in the best interests of the powerful, but activists have the opportunity to offer something altogether more enduring and enriching. Raising consciousness is only one part of the process of social change – making action relevant and possible are equally important. If we can manage to engage all parts of the process, if we can manage to help people develop and engage a sense of social conscience, then we might just have hope for the future. ]]> Political http://myshelegoldberg.com/words/index.php?itemid=75 Sat, 24 Nov 2007 03:48:32 +0100