The Great Shift

Below is the content that I have imported from another blog to which I regularly contribute. If you have the time or the inclination, please do visit it, and make absolutely as many comments as you wish. It is very important and interesting work that is being done, there, and one of my greatest hopes is that more people are apprised of it.

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The first plenary session of ISP 29 provided some background information about education theory, and about university responses to the shifts in economics and social stressors. I did not know much about higher education as a field of study before arriving in Salzburg, but given my five-year career as a citizen of the California State University system, I considered myself to be qualified to speak about it experientially, and to analyze the lag between producing a problem and identifying it, between identifying it and lumbering to fix it; and moreover, the synapse between the theory and the application is sometimes so incredibly wide, that it rivals the gorge between recognition and rectification. During my term at San Jose State University, I had the fortunate opportunity to participate on a very few faculty-strong panels, to work closely with individual faculty members on academic pursuits, and to provoke some conversation regarding the often unseen bits of university politics: the committees. But I never got to flick on the light and peer around the pedagogical room. I wonder--and wonder is the only verb whose meaning I might pick, because we undergrads are not allowed to know how most decisions on campus are made--how often professors and deans stay static on their theories of higher education simply because choosing to change would be too much work. Certainly, there is a bounty of examples evident to students which make us say to each other, Why does no one address this? How can it be that they cannot see this imbalance or the other, this deficiency, that flaw? And if they can hear, why don't they listen?

Tish Emerson, who lectured on the nature of university politics, mentioned quite poignantly that "moving from the edges to the center doesn't just change you, it changes the center." In context, Emerson seemed to be charging the university faculty in attendance with actively engaging the groups who currently rest on the "fringes" of the institution. As the conversation around developing this archetype of "student as global citizen" begins to build momentum and to take a discernible shape, this mandate is an important one to keep in mind. After all, it seems to me that if there is a fringe, we must infer that there is some group that is less welcome and perhaps included less often than others. And if we exclude some types some of the time, how, then, can we consider ourselves to be global citizens? This prescription seems to be self-evident to me, and it met with general affirmation from each of the audience members; it was certainly worth making public, so that the idea remains in the forefront and acts as a lens through which to scrutinize the projects that each university will produce.

But surely, when the term "fringe" comes about, we cannot settle for thinking that this is a reference to one economic class or religious sect or cultural background; it is not a term that necessarily recalls an academic discipline or sexual orientation, a language or belief or a custom or any other political stripe. I fall into the traditionally empowered set of virtually every classification, so I am certainly not in a position to complain about personal disenfranchisement. But in my experience, when the university is the setting, sometimes the "fringe" group is the students themselves.

The awkward part for students, I feel, is that much of the important activity takes place behind a sort of administrative curtain, which shrouds from student input all of those decisions which will result in drastic changes to student life. It was my tiny experience that I had a voice, that its use was encouraged, and that its quality was nurtured. But many of my peers, who eventually became frustrated by the confusing maze that can be university bureaucratic procedure, simply grew tired of using that voice to affect any sort of change on our own behalf. I very often felt that I could raise a concern, but that it was as if I was talking into a pillow: the hum of my concern was inaudible, and it went unheeded. I realize that as struggling undergraduates, we may not be able to provide sharp and critical commentary on the university's current or proposed pedagogy, but we are certainly able to tell how the decisions that the faculty make are affecting our days on campus, the quality of our degrees, and our general satisfaction with the institution. It is manifest that we, the students, have neither the training nor the experience to be able to make high-level decisions, but should we not have input? If the administrators are to take Emerson's advice, perhaps the first step would be something of an inventory of all major panels to whom it is charged to make influential policy decisions, and to then examine how much input students are able to offer to the panels; or alternatively, take account of how many of the staple committees in academic affairs or student affairs are chaired by faculty who are champions of student affection, instead of an administrator with whom no student can identify? I just loved my experience at San Jose State. The degree of diversity that I experienced there, culturally and ideologically, was fantastic. My most fervent wish for that institution--and any like it--is that future students will be able to reflect on their tenures, and feel that they were mixed into the center, a part of what the university was.

How to Empathize

The plenary session today was one that I had heard before: Reinhold Wagnleitner, one of the more eccentric and beloved friends of the Seminar, performed his staple lecture "America and The World: Visions at a Distance". This was the third time that I had heard an iteration of this presentation, and each time I internalize a larger portion of the slides that he shows, a number which easily exceeds 130. The paramount tenet of Reinhold's lecture is that perception, not fact, is a preeminent factor in creating an environment in which global citizenship is possible. This position makes immediate sense. Ironically, the problem of perception seems to be just as present intra-nationally in the United States as it is internationally about the United States.

Here is where we enter the problem of empathy that I want to address. In the discussion after the presentation, a predictable amount of self-gratifying noble liberalism hung thick in the room, while any shrewd or cutting analysis of the way in which we go about changing this negative perception was simply eschewed from the dialogue. Luckily, I have this blog, so the pressure to speak about my ideas (which seem to be decidedly radical, and stand in juxtaposition even more prominently in a mildly conservative demographic such as this one) never becomes so much that my head collapses in on itself like a dying star. The pervasive attitude of many of the speakers seemed to be that in order to fix many problems related to persecution and suffering and human rights violations and greed, these themes must be underscored in the school system. Okay, maybe: but I think that faculty forget sometimes that school matters far less than visual media, in terms of mass education. But I'll concede the point, because my objection about that premise leads nowhere interesting to discuss. From this premise, the room forwarded their next assertion that the best--and perhaps only--way to ensure that these themes are enduring is to demonstrate them in person; for instance, to do service trips and language studies and study abroad would be the best--and again, perhaps only--way to ingrain a lasting impression in students that caring for one another is of vital importance.

Well.

I immediately and fervently objected, and I like the idea! My position is this, and it is simple: I am saddened by the notion, if it is true, that we have become a nation or a people who cannot learn except by doing. There are some things, I think, which a desirable version of a human being is able to intuit, facts about the world which must be true in order to the world to function properly, ethically: to believe otherwise is to deny our soft power of intellect. One of these principles, for example, is that, in any complex society, there must be some meta-ethics that are necessarily true, full stop. I cannot imagine to be satisfied with the notion that in order to understand that slavery or misogyny or racism are wrong, we must directly experience them, or meet with people who might "tell us their stories" of how terrible those things are. Can we not discern that these and other certain acts and attitudes are wrong, a priori, and that the experience is indeed the way that we might change the situations which we have identified as unsatisfactory, rather than the way that we learn about it in the first place? Action as activism, I say; not action as education. And by extension, the message is extremely upsetting: we cannot acquire genuine knowledge of a thing by thinking about it, we must have it happen to us. This assertion implies that certain terrible acts must occur first, before we can determine that they are unwanted. Is that the sort of world that we wish to create, or worse, to encourage?

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Kyle Brown, gentleman and scholar that he is, has written a lovely rumination on the subject of involvement and belonging (but also on the informal subject of San Francisco antics). I have thought a great deal about that subject, as we all are compelled to do. To contradict the point I have just made above, I do believe that it is a necessary pre-condition of self-actualization that a person has felt that, in fact, he does not belong.

Sponsorship

My pioneer post on the Seminar's blog has just been published. I know that my readership must linger in the mid-to-high single digits, but I would be incredibly thankful if each of you would please check out the catalog held by the Salzburg Global Seminar. I will do my best to publicize through this blog whenever I post on the Seminar's site, such that you all might be charitable enough to pay a visit to my benefactor. There is some fantastic content to be found there, and it is written by some major world players, such that the articles that are contained on that blog are good lenses through which the generally secretive processes of international NGOs and the UN can be seen with fantastic acuity.

My first entry, which simply takes the form of an introduction of my role on the blog, can be found here. Other links to my Seminar articles will follow in individual entries on this blog, but again, please do visit the Salzburg Global Seminar blog in its entirety. It would be a great service to me, to appear as if I am making a difference which is measurable; everything else I am doing here, it seems, is intrinsically positive, but has no metric. And sometimes, in cases such as these two connected blogs, the tangible evidence is just so satisfying!

The Interim

It has been very difficult recently to break away enough quality time to constuct a post that merits posting, so I figured that a small update and then a chronicle of impending posts would be sufficient. It can be hard sometimes to maintain the motivation to visit this blog, because whenever I am on the computer at work, I am usually very methodical and I try to be very precise so as not to waste any paper in the machine or space on the page; this blog is antithetical to those constraints, and to add to that, I am sometimes so exhausted after a day at the Seminar that casual writing does not quite seem to fit into my plans. Sleeping wins out, or at least the idea that I should sleep. Alright, then. Here it goes: a quick update, and then an unorganized list of the longer posts I'm currently developing, most of which have a philosophical bent because they were almost categorically inspired by conversations or plenary sessions that took place last week.

First, I have received some exciting news, regarding a special project for next month. Unfortunately, IHJR, which I was looking forward to tremendously, has lost funding sufficient to support an intern; thus, that opportunity has been lost, but as sometimes happens in life, it has been supplanted by another one. David has put to me the idea of organizing and, in some capacity, running the blog for the Salzburg Global Seminar. It is my impression that most of the writing that is currently contained on that blog is conceived of by higher administration, including our president Steven Salyer; because of their status, their presence at the actual sessions in Salzburg is necessarily infrequent, and while the prominent sessions--ones run in partnership with the UN or high government, for example--certainly warrant their presence, they simply cannot record their thoughts about every session that we run. Thus, the job for which I had been highered initially has disappeared, and a job for which I am more appropriately equipped has materialized. Tangentially, it is likely that I will inherit some responsibility to run a social network for ISP alums, with particular emphasis on student outreach. This will very likely mean a facebook account: I am excited about this prospect in an entirely different way. While both of these opportunities will afford me the chance to develop my skills at writing and analysis, and will be supported in purpose by the academic sector of the Seminar, I will also get the chance to practice my research and communication skills, and to exercise a bit of creativity both intellectually and socially.

Last week was extraordinarily busy, requiring a totally different work schematic than I am used to. Instead of last nights and quick bursts of action, the intern office--now a bit lonelier for the absence of Daniel, who has returned to university--ground out some long hours and saw some early mornings. I feel a bit like a man playing a marionette, who works intricately behind the scenes but does not participate with his audience. I am learning a great deal about the manner of office business, about planning and organization for large conferences, and about the way in which university pedagogy really tends to burden the faculty who are the most interested in making a positive change in a holistic fashion. Obviously, there are tremendous financial constraints to be considered, especially these days, and doubly so for small schools, so the breakout group sessions are a great forum for discussing in great detail the creative ways in which the university higher administration must be provoked to part with its funds. It is important to remember, as Jochen wisely interjected, that when we say resources, we should caution not to think of solely financial prospects. Instead, we should remember to consider less material supplies, like effort, energy, time, support, and so on.

There are, as in most university proceedings, frequent mentions of certain ubiquitous key words, which seem to be terms that the faculty use as tools, and yet which have become terms that create some obfuscation to any acute discussion of theory. For example, I heard the words "stakeholder," and "inclusion" many times, but each of these seemed to be references to "those persons which must be involved so that our project is not shut down by those same people"; "broadening horizons" and "matriculation" seemed to be code for "make sure that we have a study abroad program"; "heritage" sometimes as a replacement for "non-white culture" or "non-rich experience". I do not see the way in which this sort of flowery language is helpful: if you mean disenfranchised, just say it. If you mean unacceptable, don't say "challenging" or "unaddressed". To suggest that something is "a new focus for us" is not the same as admitting the truth that is has been, until now, "at least a moderate failure". I know that ego is necessarily involved in this sort of terminology, and I am equally aware that my abrasive criticism of these terms are examples of my own stain of psychological egoism. So, in order to return my focus to addressing a problem instead of simple ranting, let us re-examine the purpose of having these sorts of seminars in the first place: creating a new and better system.

Large amounts of university politics seem to be a game concerning who to please and who to excise, which to attend and which to ignore, when to praise and when to correct. I think that each of these activities is necessary, obviously, but I'm not sure that the best way to reach definite decisions or to execute orders is to link that process to the best way to please the people who control the funds or who run your department; what if, for instance, that those administrators have aims that are otherwise concerned, and are not truly and ardently fixed on producing well-rounded, quality students? Moreover, if an institution endeavors to instill in its students some particular outlook or persuasion--social justice, for example--then how can it be said that this goal is realized and is in fact achieved, if the wording of the message is itself unclear? How is the inclusion of buzzwords in a plan or a slogan or a project sufficient evidence that what you have created is good, or useful?

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Another one of these words which seemed to obscure the conversation around global citizenship is the term itself. I think that it may be that we have considered the nature of the issue incorrectly, in the first place. Instead, I suggest that there should be two terms, each of which will subdivide the term which is now used, and will then occupy its respective field of academia and of social programming. For more speculation on this, see my post entitled "Global Citizenship as a Misnomer".

I have begun to give consideration to the role that historical accounts play in our intercultural narrative. Over the past week, many esteemed professors and scholars who visited the Seminar referenced events from the past that somehow created a schism, or animosity, or otherwise disrupted the fabric of social communication. But something began to twitch in my mind about the import of retelling stories of a traumatic shared past. I have come up with a nascent version of what I believe to be a dissonance between the intent of education about legacy, and the actual outcome of that sort of conversation; I have labored to construct an idea of historicism which I have outlned in the entry "A New Approach to History".

A project which I have been pouring myself into since early summer is a thought experiment about the way in which prayer and worry are connected. There is a passage in Philippians which commends the power of Jesus to relieve a believer of his anxiety, by simply investing oneself in a practice of prayer and ritual. This advice is antithetical to me, so I started to sketch a draft of a playful essay that would outline the link between the existence of prayer and the existence of worry, which I have, without much inspiration, called "On the Interrelatedness of Prayer and Worry".

Finally, during a plenary session held last week, I started to toss around the issue of how ethical theory can be gracefully applied trans-communitively, that is, between different "sovereign" groups of people in the United States. While this too will be a bit of a playful submission, I am genuinely interested in the decline of deontological morality except in very politically conservative constructs, such as fundamentalist churches. There seems to be some link between anti-intellectualism and anti-relativism, but there also seems to be a growing persuasion among the very liberal to condemn an idea of objectivism. That is, it seems as if neither the very conservative nor the very liberal are willing to accept that normative ethics can be categorically perscriptive, and yet moderate and easy to accept and apply. I have titled this entry "Regarding Morality in the Modern Communitarian Archetype".

Thanks for reading, now and in the future.