Category Archives: Graduate Students

Mental Health Struggles and Survival Strategies

Graduate Studies in the Time of Coronavirus, Part II

Edited by Didem Uca, with support from the members of the CSGSH

The second part of the series offers powerful testimonies from three graduate students as they cope with the mental health effects of the sudden and unexpected changes in their lives at work and at home. They share personal strategies they have developed to support their well being while managing multiple, competing demands on their time and attention. This post offers a mere snapshot of the impacts of this crisis on graduate student mental health. Many struggle in silence, not feeling comfortable to share their experiences due to stigmas associated with mental health issues. Many face a new or ongoing lack of access to resources to support the management of these issues, further exacerbating an already difficult situation. We therefore urge instructors, advisors, mentors, and supervisors of graduate students to be mindful of how the pandemic could be affecting graduate students’ mental health. Check in with your graduate students to see how they are doing––not just as scholars or teachers, but as people. It can make a world of difference.

Chrissie Andreou Maroulli

Ph.D. Candidate in English Literature and Comparative Cultural Studies, University of Cyprus

Euphoria

March 16th. I am teaching an online drama lesson. I am holding my daughter, who is screaming bloody murder, while I try to explain to twelve-year-olds what “characterization” is. She lifts my shirt to breast-feed, verbally and physically demanding milk. I hang up in terror. An uncontrollable force takes over me. I put the baby down, grab the doorknob and start banging the bedroom door onto the wall uncontrollably. My partner, who is in the next room on an online lesson of his own, thankfully realizes something is wrong and rushes in. Meanwhile my entire body is seizing. Not knowing what to do, he slaps me to try to calm me down. It doesn’t help. Eventually the panic attack fades out and I feel empty.

Since the lockdown was enforced in Cyprus, we have to look after our baby around the clock; daycare is closed and our parents are not allowed to visit. We work from home while a bored two-year-old is constantly in the room. Since she sees me all the time, weaning has gone out the window; she wants to breastfeed constantly, which has me in tears from aggravation and pain. Most of our private students lost their jobs, so they have “temporarily” dropped out. Our rent is now higher than our income. We also recently found out that my father has lung cancer and have not been able to see him yet.

The demanding baby needs to be entertained constantly. Mum needs to find solutions. We start baking. I have never baked this much. She loves it! We cook, one, two, three times a day. We sit at the table and eat as a family. We draw, sculpt, sing and dance, read, sink our hands into tubs of rice and giggle. She is happier than she has ever been. She infects us with her laughter. Somehow I finish writing a chapter for publication. I pre-record my lessons and make online teaching work. I continue enthusiastically working on my Ph.D. I think I am thriving.

I have never seen this much of my partner. I like him even more now. I remember all of the reasons why I love him. I see the meaning of life. Our family.

I have absolutely no doubt that we will figure it out; God has His ways.

Eventually the panic attack fades out and I feel empty. And then I feel better; so much better.

Kinsey Potter

Master’s of Professional & Technical Communications in English student, Tennessee Technological University

Twitter: @kinsey_potter

Digital Portfolio: https://kinseypotter.wordpress.com/

When the novel coronavirus forced the world to begin cycles of handwashing and daily cleaning, those of us with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) revisited personal rituals that we had overcome weeks, months, or years ago. As a graduate student in my first semester and someone who was diagnosed with OCD at a very young age, I have had to teach myself how to function remotely while also reteaching myself how to fight previously overcome compulsions. OCD seems to be the role model of what to do in a pandemic, and within only three weeks I am feeling exposed while my buried compulsions return.

I finished a seminar paper shortly before I convinced myself that I killed my 60-year-old neighbor by shaking his hand—he’s alive, yet I obsess that he isn’t. Since the media echoes OCD thoughts that to not clean is to kill, I have thrown my previously minimized cleaning routines into the trash as I clean the kitchen for the fifth time in one day. We with OCD typically spend every day treating our compulsions through developing routines proving that if we do not conduct certain rituals, then nothing bad will happen. Yet pandemics prove to us that something bad will happen, and our minds whisper I told you so. Since the pandemic began, and even before stay-at-home orders and remote learning were put in place, I began to listen to that voice. I have revisited compulsions that I overcame at ten years old, I will not leave the house, and I am beginning to have to disclose that I have OCD with those in my personal and academic lives who had been unaware. The internet is making fun of us with #OCD due to society’s newly enforced cleaning habits, and the news is giving us an excuse to listen to the voice of compulsions.

Despite these significant challenges, I continue channeling my OCD into academia. Three papers written, one article submitted to a journal, and multitudes of emails sent from a frenzied state at my three-times-dusted-already-today computer. Yet, I am struggling to end the semester both successfully ahead in my program of study and not negatively behind in my process of overcoming OCD rituals. Because of COVID-19, I will receive not only an M.A. in English in 1.5 years, but I will hopefully earn the words I overcame my disorder in full capacity again, as I began to do 13 years ago.

Peyton Sibert

Master’s of Professional Writing student, Kennesaw State University

Twitter: @PeytonLane96

Website: peytonspages.com

At the beginning of March, COVID-19 did not seem like a problem in Metro-Atlanta. My partner, however, who resides in South Florida and has had a plan for the zombie apocalypse for as long as I’ve known her, told me to stay safe. While I was working at my university’s writing center five days later, my campus announced that face-to-face classes would cease for two days. Nonetheless, I still did not grasp the gravity of the situation until that evening when I witnessed the type of mass hysteria that I thought only existed in movies at the local supermarket. Dented cans and discarded items were tossed onto the otherwise empty shelves. People tried to avoid human contact, despite their carts serving as bumper cars in the aisles. Suddenly, my partner’s worries did not seem outlandish. Shoving my shopping list into my pocket, I grabbed the last loaf of overpriced, organic bread and searched for cans that were not too dented.

For another week, the coffee shop where I also work stayed open; I washed my hands incessantly. When a temporary closure was announced, I was grateful because my fear grew with each new report of cases. When my campus announced that the rest of the semester would be conducted online, I secluded myself in my apartment. As a graduate teaching assistant, I adapted to tutoring solely online and have begun to wonder what I will do as the instructor of record if this continues into the fall. Planning my units for my first semester of teaching is daunting enough without having to consider a global pandemic.

I have been reworking my unit plan, planning my capstone, researching Ph.D. programs, and reintroducing myself to the importance of mental health. At a time where I could allow my anxiety to control everything, I am challenging myself to become mindful of my stress by practicing daily yoga and walking around a local cemetery. The cemetery offers a level of peace that I cannot find in my neighborhood. The silence overpowers my worries, so that I can embrace the beauty of nature and the seemingly perfect marble gravestones. Although I hope to soon engage with others face to face, I am appreciative of this time of solitude, when I can delve into my thoughts about teaching, as well as reflect upon what I can and cannot control in my academic future. I never would have imagined that COVID-19 would make my partner’s plan for the apocalypse feel like a reality––despite the lack of zombies.

Seeking Empathy & Community

Graduate Studies in the Time of Coronavirus, Part I

Edited by Didem Uca, with support from the members of the CSGSH

The COVID-19 pandemic has radically altered all aspects of society in North America and around the globe, including higher education. The Modern Language Association’s Committee on the Status of Graduate Students in the Humanities asked graduate students to submit short reflections on how this situation has affected the core aspects of their scholarly lives––from coursework and teaching to research projects and dissertation defenses––as well as the impact on their broader selves: personal well being, physical and mental health, familial and domestic responsibilities, financial and living situations, and any other repercussions of this crisis. We received such a tremendous response from graduate students across disciplines and around the U.S. and beyond that we decided to produce a series of posts over the next several weeks on different themes, each with contributions by several graduate student writers. Our first post addresses recognizing the need for empathy and community, both for ourselves as graduate student-researcher-instructor-humans and for the students entrusted in our care. We are very grateful to everyone who was able to share their perspectives and are in solidarity with all of our colleagues around the world who have been affected. If you are struggling, we hope that these posts help you feel less alone.

Anonymous Contribution

I am a first-year doctoral student at an R1 university in the American south. I left my home state and traveled half a country away to attend this university, leaving behind my friends, my family, and my job security, all in an effort to achieve my PhD. I am a graduate teaching assistant at my university, on top of taking a full course load. On top of that, as I attend an R1, I am juggling the writing load of no fewer than 5 publications at any time. Nothing slowed down or stopped when we went “virtual”––if anything, people have assumed that I have more time than before, and have been asking me to complete tasks for them. I am busier than I have been in years, and most of it is the heavy lifting of other people’s needs. I haven’t had time to process how the quarantine has affected me; instead, I am setting up family Zoom meetings, editing other people’s work, and giving of myself because people ask me to, and because they are in need. I feel like that old teaching adage, where in order to light the way, a teacher needs to burn themselves out. I have nothing left, and yet I keep burning to give others light.

Aside from my personal academic progress, I have my students to worry about. Some of them were forced to move back home to a place that is not safe, where they face food and housing insecurity, and where they worry about simply surviving. All of their classes don’t matter as much as their safety and health, and yet, I have to be that “jerk” emailing them about assignments that they need to turn in. I am one of the lucky ones, though. My supervisor and my department have been amazing through this entire debacle, and have given all of the GTAs the freedom to do what they feel is the best for their students. My supervisor checks in on me and the other students under her care, and I feel supported academically and personally. I don’t feel alone, however stressed out I may be. I don’t have anybody who I am immediately responsible for––no children or parents to care for. I settled my mental health issues prior to this, and because of that I am not reliant on therapy to function. I am one of the lucky ones, whose big complaint is that I am helping others and neglecting myself, and that is a luxury. But, this life is not easy. This is a heavy weight being placed on us all, and sometimes I want to crumble under my share of the weight.

Kay Sohini

English PhD Candidate and Instructor, Stony Brook University

Twitter: @KaySohini

On March 7, when New York issued a state of emergency due to COVID-19, I was in Boston for NeMLA. It was in all likelihood the last academic conference that would not be canceled for the foreseeable future. On coming back to NYC from Boston, I stocked up on essentials and prepared to self-quarantine. My university went entirely online soon after. As movement became more and more restricted in my city and beyond, my summer research project—which required fieldwork and international travel—was canceled. It was a time-sensitive project that likely cannot be completed at a later date.

Luckily, unlike the 10 million people who filed for unemployment in March, I still receive a (albeit modest) paycheck in my role as a graduate TA/instructor of record. My university has extended our graduation timelines by one year. However, we have not heard anything so far about what that means on the funding front. Instead, there have been a flurry of webinars on the best distance learning practices and how to teach on Zoom. While these resources can be helpful, they implicitly create pressure to teach synchronously (which my university initially required, before eventually pulling back on it). In my experience, that is no longer a viable option. Undergraduate students are dealing with employment loss, have precarious living situations, and some even have to care for their families. I suppose it is important for universities to maintain a semblance of normalcy during these trying times, for both morale and fiscal reasons. Regarding the latter, perhaps we (graduate instructors, contingent faculty) are beneficiaries too, inasmuch as we would be the first ones to lose our paychecks in the event of universities losing money.

Nevertheless, to insist on normalcy when there is a global pandemic, to assume that all students have the emotional (and technological) bandwidth to deal with synchronous modes of instruction compromises on the values that the humanities espouse. Over the past week, my students have told me that some of their instructors have assigned extra work because they are no longer meeting face to face. Some have told me that their internet connectivity is not strong enough for Zoom. One student has had to pick up extra shifts at work to make ends meet. Yet another informed me that both of their parents tested positive for the virus. Personally, I lost my grandmother this week to COVID-19 related complications. I am in Queens, which has the highest number of COVID cases in the New York area. The constant sirens outside my window are deafening, and it exacts an emotional toll. So while I want to do right by my students and do my best under the circumstances, I am acutely cognizant of the fact that these are not normal circumstances— and we must adjust our standards accordingly. I understand the need for structure (provided by synchronous learning) and that it even helps some people. I understand that we cannot suspend life and work until this is all over, since we do not know when this will end. However, I also believe that we as individuals and as a community need to cultivate more empathy and compassion. Especially now.

Heather Stewart

PhD Candidate in Philosophy, Western University

www.heatherstewartphilosophy.com

As I sit on my bed, writing from what has now become my makeshift office, comprised of a lap desk that hadn’t been used in years and a cat who is thankful for but perhaps also confused by my suddenly being home around the clock, I reflect on the ways in which the sudden changes brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic have radically shifted what it means to be a graduate student. Upon reflection, the thing I find myself most struck by is the sense of time––how at times it feels as if it is moving so slowly, as if I have been stuck in my one bedroom apartment for a century or more; at times it feels as if it is flying by, as I look at the clock after watching the third press conference or listening to the tenth news podcast of the day, and somehow a whole day is gone and I feel as if I have done, or accomplished, next to nothing but still somehow feel exhausted.

This confused sense of time––it’s being somehow simultaneously slowed down and sped up––is impacting graduate student life in myriad ways. Despite time feeling like it is frozen––like life itself is stopped in its tracks––our funding clocks tick on and progression milestones await us, unmoved.

And while I worry about the loss of time, and how that loss ultimately presents new financial challenges or exacerbates old ones, I also reflect on how much more is being lost than time, and how reflecting on those various losses really helps to illuminate what it means to be a graduate student. Being a graduate student, stuck at home in isolation along with so many folks around the world, required to be physically distant from other people, makes salient the unique pleasures of graduate student life, which, perhaps we take for granted; but in their absence, we come to realize that these play a significant role in sustaining us, our research, and our mental health.

If this experience of physical distancing and self-isolation teaches us anything about graduate study and the parts of it we ought to appreciate more deeply, it is that being a graduate student involves so much more than completing coursework and hitting progression benchmarks of exams and dissertations. The full experience of being a graduate student is about the creative stimulation that is driven by being part of an intellectual community and occupying communal spaces with other like-minded thinkers. It is about the feeling when you finally make something click for the student who has come to your office hours for the third time, having been ready to give up but feeling grateful that they didn’t. It is about connecting with the colleague you don’t see often when you happen to be making coffee in the department kitchen at the same time, and learning about their work, but maybe also about what their partners or kids have been up to lately. It is about your supervisor stopping by your office, not to ask about your research progress, but just to see how you are doing, as a human.

As a graduate student writing from home, disconnected from the intellectual community and creative spaces I perhaps took for granted, I realize now that so much more is being taken from me than the time that is being rapidly subtracted from my funding window. I am losing the graduate student experience itself. And like passing time, you can’t get that back.

Anna Barritt

Ph.D. Candidate in English: Rhetoric and Writing Studies and Assistant Director of First-Year Composition, The University of Oklahoma

While sitting in a meeting with my writing program administrator—learning of the directives from upper-administration about the impending move to online instruction to combat COVID-19—my first thought was, “I’m going to be able to get so much reading done for my doctoral exams.” Two weeks of working from home would give me that much-needed time to focus and prepare without interruption. Though I was fully aware of the difficulties that would accompany this temporary shift, I secretly rejoiced at this time to study.

A week into online instruction, it was announced that the remainder of this semester would be held online. My previous excitement quickly turned to concern. How does this affect my exams? How will I defend? How will I meet with my advisor? Like most institutions, we have made do by converting in-person meetings to Zoom meetings. In adjusting to this new digital normal, one thing has become clear to me: camaraderie is a grad student’s lifeline.

So much of our career happens in isolation. We read, think, and write holed up in whatever quiet place we can find. But we come up for air to commiserate with our peers, to admit to our advisors that we’re behind schedule, to share our love of learning with our students. We desperately depend on fostering connections with the people around us to survive what is often a lonely life. This comes as a surprise to me, as I call myself an introvert and revel in the academic life of mulling over ideas while surrounded by my books. I didn’t know how reliant I was on my peers to get through the solitary environment of grad school. With every day that passes in quarantine, combined with the possibility of the fall semester also moving online, I am wondering how I can go on like this without the social aspect of talking about my research and writing. How does any of this matter if I can’t share my findings? What hope do I have of effecting change through my projects if no one hears what I have to say? My greatest insights come in spurts of kairos and are largely inspired by the people around me; I am not the island that I once thought I was.

Sure, I’ve had more time and fewer distractions—but I’ve learned how valuable those distractions are.

Jonquil S. Harris

Masters of Professional Writing Student, Kennesaw State University

Three weeks ago, life as I knew it changed personally, professionally, academically, and worldwide. I was slightly relieved when we received the call from my employer that we would be shut down for approximately two weeks. I would have a moment to catch my breath and focus even more on what brought me joy––my graduate studies. The excitement I find in being around like-minded individuals as we discuss our craft and our future as professional writers and gaining invaluable insights from professors and advisors makes the 90-minute commute to my university seem brief.

Then the reality of the pandemic sank in, and it took a week before my anxiety wore away. I couldn’t help but think about me or my family members becoming sick. I acknowledge my privilege during this time. I have a full-time job with benefits and sick and annual leave; and I have full capability to work from home until we return to a new normal. That new normal is what I cling to get me through this. Just as I am now working remotely from home, I am also attending classes remotely. I miss being in the same room as my colleagues and bouncing ideas off of one another so openly and freely. Viewing one another on split screens, trying to determine who should speak next, or losing each other to shoddy internet connections is not nearly the same as being in one another’s physical presence.

However, I am thankful that we are still able to connect in that way, and I am now thinking even more broadly about what community means. I have seen the power of social media to aid freelancers and creatives in the way of fundraising and virtual book tours and readings.

I miss spending time with my parents, then having a long embrace before we leave one another. I miss engaging with my colleagues face-to-face. Virtual calls can only reach so far. But at this time, I worry less about being productive and more about persevering. I am thinking of resting while in a state of unrest. I am thinking about the impossible being possible.

What Does #metoo and Title 9 Mean for Students?

By Ariadne Wolf

This post represents the opinion of one individual member of the Committee on the Status of Graduate Students in the Humanities. This post does not represent the opinion nor perspective of the Committee as a whole, and does not reflect the opinion of the MLA.

Sexual harassment and sexual assault on college campuses can be difficult to pinpoint, and even harder to navigate. Most of us are immersed in our daily lives as graduate students, including family obligations, unbearable academic loads, and those full-time jobs we make a point not to mention to our college advisors. Adding anything else to that mix can feel like the straw that’s about to break our back, especially if that something else is a #metoo incident.

Unfortunately, we don’t always have a choice. These incidents enter our lives whether we would like them to or not, and once there, we have to figure out what to do. So here are some suggestions to think about before this incident actually occurs, so that if this happens to you or someone you know or that one girl you roomed with four years ago or a friend of a friend’s boyfriend, you’ll know what to say, what to do, and how to avoid the typical pitfalls of a legal process intended to protect just about everyone involved except the actual student victim.

Understand what Title 9 is, and what defines sexual harassment, so you know where to seek resources if gender discrimination or sexual harassment happens to you or to your friends.

.Sexual harassment in an educational or workplace situation is a civil matter rather than a criminal one, meaning you can report the incident and perhaps even sue for penalties but you cannot report the incident to the police and expect them to investigate or bring charges against the perpetrator. Title 9 commonly refers to both a law instituted to protect students from gender discrimination, including sexual harassment, and to the specific administrator or office that handles Title 9 offenses that occur at your specific university. The law typically referred to as simply “Title 9” is a federal civil rights law that prohibits gender discrimination in any program or school that receives federal funding, which requirement in practice extends to all United States colleges and universities. The Title 9 office at your school might simply be Human Resources personnel who are simultaneously empowered to receive and investigate any reports of Title 9 violations. If you attend a larger university, your school might have an entire office dedicated to addressing student concerns regarding offensive or inappropriate behavior, including Title 9-related problems as they occur. If you or someone you know is sexually harassed, Title 9 is the law that the perpetrator has broken, and the Title 9 procedures at your school represent your institution’s official, structural path to handling these types of issues.

At this point, you might be wondering what exactly constitutes a “Title 9 incident.” What if your Anthropology 101 professor once suggested that primate behavior supports the division of sex roles based on biological gender differences because “women are made to have babies, and men are made to compete over women?” What if you met your World History professor for an advising session after class, and at the end he hugged you goodbye and you felt uncomfortable? What if your editing partner in Creative Writing commented on your poem that “it’s not very good, so it’s a good thing you’re so pretty”? Are all of these instances of gender discrimination? Are none of them? Who decides?

The truth is, definitions of gender discrimination can be loose and very unclear, depending on your specific university’s policy. Definitions of sexual harassment can similarly differ depending on the specific academic and local culture of your institution. Therefore, rather than ask yourself if what happened is “really” an instance of gender discrimination, or whether it was “legally” a situation of sexual harassment, concentrate on how the incident made you feel. Were you able to laugh it off, or to respond in the moment with a pointed question or respond a few hours later with a frustrated rant to your friends? Several days or a week later, are you still thinking about the incident? Do you feel worried about returning to the class or physical space where the incident occurred? Is thinking about it disrupting your sleep or regular habits? If so, then the situation is having a significant impact on you, and is worth reporting.

Another way you might determine whether or not to report the incident is to think about how you might respond if a close friend or a younger sister told you that this had happened to them. Would you be confused about why this seemed like a big deal to them? Would you immediately want to go punch the person who did this, to defend someone you care about? Would your gut reaction be that this kind of comment or behavior is totally inappropriate and not okay? Trust that your reaction in defense of someone else, is the exact same reaction that you deserve to have on behalf of yourself.

Decide whether you want to report this incident before you speak to anyone whose salary is paid by the campus.

Your professors are mandated reporters for all Title 9 incidents. A mandated reporter is someone who is legally and ethically obligated to report specific types of crimes, or even suspicions of certain types of crimes, if they occur. In this case, mandated reporters of sexual harassment are required to report any instances they become aware of in which a fellow professor, staff member, administrator, or other employee of the university broke the Title 9 law and either participated in gender discrimination or sexual harassment. Other mandated reporters include any staff members hired by the university, which includes your boss, professors, mentors on campus, safety officers, and many of those you might approach for advice and comfort and emotional support. The minute you mention the incident to any of these people, they are required by law to report the situation to the Title 9 office.

That’s fine, if that is the step you want to take. If you have not made that decision, or if you are unsure, or not emotionally ready to do so, that’s fine. You’re allowed to take your time. Do not put yourself in a position where the choice is out of your hands.

Study up on what Title 9 can do, and what it cannot do.

Title 9 exists to protect students who are engaged in this reporting process. Unfortunately, one of the side effects of this protection is that it can feel rather like a gag order. Professors and staff members involved in a Title 9 investigation are not legally permitted to discuss the investigation outside of scheduled meetings. Technically, the victim in the situation is not permitted to talk about the incident outside of these meetings either, particularly not with friends or other parties who work or attend classes on campus. That is sometimes not the most helpful situation for a victim’s mental and emotional state. This also deprives the victim of some control and autonomy over their choices in relation to this event. It’s important to think about these questions, before moving forward and seeing these choices made for you.

Additionally, regardless of how well-intentioned the individuals involved might be, remember that both your advisor and the Title 9 officers ultimately are employed by your university. They will want to minimize the harm done to you, presumably, but ultimately their job is to make sure to minimize the harm done to the university as a whole. That very well might mean “handling the matter internally,” meaning delivering some official or unofficial censure towards the perpetrator of the act, but behind closed doors and in a way that guarantees the public and the media will never find out about it. That means that if your personal goal is to share your story widely, or to see some sort of visible personnel change take place, Title 9 is probably not the best way to go about doing that.

Consider the potential consequences of reporting.

Is the perpetrator teaching a class that you need to take in order to graduate? Have you already paid for the class, and is there any chance of getting your money back if you drop the class now, even because of a Title 9 incident? Campuses are often not equipped on an administrative level to handle Title 9 incidents, particularly if these incidents take place mid-semester, or in a class for which there exists no equivalent.

Do not assume your campus will reimburse you expenses or fees related to the class. Do not assume that the campus will have the administrative chops to handle the myriad of complex questions associated with such an incident.

None of these questions need deter you, if you think that reporting is genuinely the best option for you. However, these are questions to get clarity about ahead of time. These are points to develop your own strategy around, because your institution is not required to provide you support in navigating the administrative consequences of reporting, and likely will not do so.

Understand that a Title 9 report does not guarantee punishment, and that you may not be informed of any consequences of your decision to report the incident.

Unless your professor is outright fired, you’re probably never going to find out the outcome of your Title 9 report. Your institution is not legally mandated to tell you, and you will not be a participant in the decision-making process if your institution decides to proceed with some form of official reprimand or punishment. You will probably walk away from the entire Title 9 process never knowing what happened. Is that something you can live with?

Prioritize yourself.

There is not one single person likely to be involved in the Title 9 process whose actual professionally mandated task is to make sure you’re okay. The Title 9 officials themselves have legal requirements and official hoops to jump through. Your advisor might be called as a witness, and therefore obligated to divulge any relevant details you have given them about the incident. The administration of your institution might individually care about you, but they want to make sure the health of the institution as a whole remains intact.

All of that being the case, you need to watch out for you. Make sure you’re okay. Develop a plan for moving forward that meets your academic and professional needs from this university, as well as your personal emotional and social needs. Make sure you have support off campus as well as on campus. Decide on a strategy for if and when you encounter the perpetrator on campus, both in a group setting and a one-on-one setting. Make your decisions about how to proceed beforehand, so you don’t need to make them in the moment when you’re upset or triggered or angry. Make sure your own well-being is taken care of. Then, and only then, move forward, with an eye towards the future you want to build and towards the person you are now, with all your courage and limitations, all your determination and all your dreams.

You are much, much bigger than this.

For Teachers Navigating a Post-#metoo Classroom

By Ariadne Wolf

This post does not represent the opinion of the MLA Committee on the Status of Graduate Students in the Humanities as a whole, nor does it represent the public or collective perspective of the Modern Language Association as an organizational entity.

Education in a post-#metoo climate can feel hostile and unwieldy to professors who find themselves at sea in changing power dynamics and struggling to survive a shifting culture. Changes in the surrounding American discourse around gender and respect have made their way into the classroom. While most would agree this is a vital and even necessary shift, institutions today often struggle to adequately communicate their expectations to professors. Professors without a professional background in understanding gender, power, marginalization and consent, sometimes struggle in turn to develop and maintain respectful classroom environments that do not reflect the rapidly aging mores of the past.

With that in mind, here are our suggestions to professors seeking to understand their role and responsibilities in developing a more equitable academic sphere:

Don’t touch your students.

Unless you are bidding a student goodbye at their graduation party, please don’t touch your students. This is a message communicated to every teacher of any age or demographic of student, and yet the topic emerges again and again as a question mark in the minds of individual instructors. There is no question mark here, no obfuscation of required behavior.

Do not demonstrate a concept in class by touching your students or manipulating their bodies. Do not hug your students inside the classroom, at any point, because your mantle of authority extends to that room and makes consent confusing and complex for students to assert in the moment.

Even if your student is crying or upset, just keep your hands to yourself. This will save you significant hassle later.

Your student is not flirting with you.

We all want to believe we are more attractive than we are. We all tend to manufacture romantic drama to get through our less than exciting days. Yet the reality is, even if you never act on your crush, it shows through. It will make this student uncomfortable, will make other students resentful, and will alter class dynamics in an unpleasant and unpreventable way. Instead, do not feed this particular beast. Monitor your own feelings and behavior, and remind yourself that your employability depends on your ability to successfully maintain a professional distance.

Even if your student is flirting with you, it shouldn’t matter.

There is no good reason to become involved with someone who is currently your student. For every story of a romance begun from this situation, there are many more stories of professors who resign in disgrace. With today’s social media exposure, professors are not merely fired for this every year, but shamed for years online. Do not be one of them.

Set the tone you want from your students.

Demonstrate the respect you expect to receive. Focus on the growth potential of your students, not on traits that annoy you or that you find distracting. Before you become aggravated at students for showing up late, make sure you arrive on time and prepared to every single class and scheduled office hours. Make sure your own phone is turned off. Integrate different methods of learning to appeal to those with different learning styles, including multimedia, pair and small group discussion, and other models. Give your students a chance to give feedback about the course and your teaching style halfway through the semester, and make actual adjustments accordingly.

Check yourself.

Ask yourself regularly whether you call on your female, male, and genderqueer students equally. Notice your own attitudes towards students who break gender norms in dress, tone of voice, and perspective, and take steps to resolve any issues you have with students for any of these topics. Notice whether you explicitly or implicitly reward female students you view as attractive, well-behaved, or modest, or reward male students you view as assertive or natural leaders. Then pursue your own education separately from the classroom, via books and films that speak to sexism and patriarchal norms in the classroom. Remember, education is a lifelong pursuit.

Center the margins, at least in your own thinking.

How is the rape survivor in your classroom going to feel when she is triggered in class while discussing The Bluest Eye? How is the incest survivor in your classroom going to feel when another student describes an incident of sexual abuse as “a father having sex with his daughter?” Prepare yourself for these possibilities. Do not avoid teaching books out of personal discomfort, unless you truly do not feel capable of doing a decent job managing discussions. Do not rely on trigger warnings with the expectation that traumatized students will self-select and simply not show up to class discussions, thus depriving themselves of the opportunity to learn. Instead, take steps to improve your facilitation skills and develop a supportive classroom environment that encourages students to bring their full, embodied selves. Introduce books with triggering content in careful and sympathetic ways. Discuss difficult content with kindness and a serious tone of voice, and discourage students from making jokes or sardonic comments out of discomfort.

Lastly…do not fool yourself into thinking your role on campus is absent from broader historical context or political ramifications. You can be a resource and a source of empowerment and comfort for your students, or you can choose to be part of the problem we have all inherited. Please remember your most vulnerable students when you make that choice.

A Final Thought:

Remember, as a professor or graduate student instructor, you are a mandated reporter for any Title 9 incident. Make sure to communicate this to any student who comes to you with a concern about another professor.

If you see something, or if a student mentions something to you that does not sit right with you, speak up. This is your responsibility. Please take it seriously. You could completely alter the course of a student’s education by speaking up on their behalf. You will alter the course of their entire life if you stay silent.