One of the things that has made the discussion of the Duke Lacrosse case so difficult is that it is one neither of purely black-and-white, right-and-wrong, nor is it of the more subtle shades-of-gray variety. Instead, it combines aspects of both: aspects of the case demands simple right/wrong answers, while others call for a more nuanced understanding of morality and ethics.
For instance, had the three lacrosse players legitimately been found guilty of committing the brutal rape with which they were initially charged, it is safe to say that they should have been punished – probably severely – and that those people and factors that had enabled such a crime should have been dealt with accordingly (the revision or dismantling of the lacrosse program, the prosecution of conspirators, etc.). On the other hand, if the three indeed did not commit the crimes with which they have been charged (and this increasingly seems to be the case, especially since the rape charges have now been dropped against all three), then they deserve to have their names cleared, the alleged victim needs to have her motives closely examined, as does the district attorney Mike Nifong and the prosecutorial team. These consequences seem fairly uncontroversial.
However, what is difficult about this case is that so many of the issues surrounding it cannot be parsed so easily, but instead exist in a world of proliferating gray that is so troublesome and morally ambiguous. Unlike the legal case with its relatively simple understanding of right and wrong, the social issues which have produced the case’s controversy and to which it is intimately tied actively resist such simplistic responses. Not matter how much we might want the issues of class, race, region, and the academy that surround the case to dissolve into the ether with the handing down of the legal judgment (or the dismissal of the case), the tenacity and complexity of these issues make such resolutions incomplete and even dishonest.
Unsurprisingly perhaps, this is also what makes the case so interesting from a social standpoint: try as we might to see the racial dynamics of the case simply, or to cast the academy’s response and one-dimensional, these issues defy such compartmentalization. This has been the pitfall of many commentators and writers on the case, as they have been tricked to applying legal standards to the social aspects of the case, and in the process oversimplified and reduced the cultural aspects of the case in unproductive or even negative ways. For instance, failing to understand that while not guilty of rape (or – so it would now seem – kidnapping and sexual assault) that these players in specific or the lacrosse team more generally might have participated in a campus culture in need of study and possible revision, is to choose to ignore that legal innocence does not – and should not – mean that this incident should be moved quickly behind us.
But we do want to move beyond this: the Duke Lacrosse case (for lack of a better moniker) is something that the community of Durham and the university – not to mention academia and the nation at large – need to work through and past to make sure that nothing like this happens again. This seems to be something that has heretofore been missing in internet conversations about the case (there are exceptions), for while the complexities of the legal case has preoccupied many, and damning involved players has become a pastime of others, few have begun to look for ways out of the current mess. To be fair, Duke initially made an effort to do so, by establishing the Campus Culture Initiative and holding numerous forums on the matter. These efforts – rightly and wrongly – have been largely dismissed, though, and as the status quo reasserts itself, we would do well to reassess where the past nine months have taken us.
I would like to pose a number of questions that seem relevant at this point. First, from the point of view of Duke:
-- Did the social culture at the University contribute to this event? How can this be diagnosed, and what can be done about it?
-- How does the (perceived) divide between athletics and academics at the university play out in the case? How can this relationship be evaluated, and how can it be bettered?
-- What role did the faculty play in this case? How can faculty-student relationships be improved? Moreover, how can the gaps between students, faculty, and the administration be reduced?
Notice that none of these questions are aimed at specific policies, nor are they particularly narrow question. This is not to say that such questions aren’t relevant, but simply that they aren’t my immediate concern.
Thinking more broadly:
-- What does this case say about the perception of Duke in the Durham community, and vice versa? It is probably safe to say that this relationship is far from perfect: what can be done to improve it? Are there different things that the university and the community need to do, or things that they can do together?
-- How does this case demonstrate the perception of the academy within American society at large?
-- What roles have public intellectuals played in this case? In what ways have these interactions been positive? Can this case tell us something about the role of public intellectuals in American life?
These questions attempt to look forward and see the case as something that can tell us useful things about the university and society, but that the answers needn’t necessarily be damning, nor the outcome inevitably be bad. The specifics of the case need not be ignored, nor must the past be banished from any discussion about how to move forward. Indeed, to do so would be irresponsible. But to simply pillory Duke, or characterize Durham as a cesspool (this is common on many internet discussion boards), or even to demonize Nifong would be as unproductive and dangerous in the long run as completely exonerating them (and this is no goal), and would be incorrectly and negatively applying the black-and-white standards of the legal system to a problem that is much more complex.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Defining Professor-Student Relationships
In today’s post on his blog “Durham in Wonderland,” Prof. Johnson takes the “Group of 88” to task for their role in the Duke Lacrosse case. Citing their “listening statement” published in the Duke Chronicle in the first of April (this statement seems to no longer be available on the web), Johnson goes on to single out professors for their comments -- or lack thereof -- on the case.
At the heart of this post is an understanding about the basic relationship between students and faculty. As illustrated in this comment, “I know of no other criminal case in which the statements and behavior of the students’ own professors constituted grounds for a change of venue,” the students’ “own professors” have a responsibility toward their students, one that was betrayed by the listening statement.
It is first worth noting that the professors that signed the listening statement did understand their relationship with their students similarly, though they thought that it called for a different response, one attentive to the concerns of a different subset of students: in writing the statement, they hoped to stand up for women and minorities that felt silenced or otherwise marginalized in the student body, several of whom were anonymously quoted in the ad. (Again, I’m sorry that this statement seems no longer to exist, for as a touchstone for the controversy it is worth a second look and close reading.)
But a larger issue that this post itself has implicitly raised -- as has the controversy surrounding the case itself -- is what relationship should the university have with its students? How should the faculty of a university treat its students? What things should students expect from faculty, and faculty students?
There are some easy immediate answers to these questions -- respect on all sides, of course, goodwill and the like -- but the larger structural relationship is hard to define. Should universities adopt an in loco parentis relationship toward their students, as was historically the case? Or do contemporary models of student-as-consumer offer more appropriate cues? Still further, how is this relationship complicated in the age of the “helicopter parent”?
There are obviously legal ramifications to these questions, some of which are reverberating through the Duke Lacrosse scandal. But there are also institutional and pedagogical questions that go to the heart of the college experience that deserve some examination: bent on providing a positive college experience and bound to offer a rigorous scholarly curriculum, what responsibilities does a college faculty have toward their students? What (if any) responsibilities do students have to their professors? What about students toward their peers? Or professors to other faculty members?
All too often the professor-student relationship is covered over with the hazy word “mentorship,” a word that is defined in a number of conflicting ways and with a variety of possible interpretations. At root, it seems to be a kind of in loco germanitas (“in place of brother/sister”: excuse me for some made-up Latin), where the professor serves as a kind of older sibling to the student, one with a weight of moral obligations that go beyond the basic legal connotations of the relationship. As such, while the professor is professionally and legally responsible for providing certain educational training, they are also understood to be morally bound to extend a number of extra-educational services to the student, such as being a role-model, offering academic and professional guidance, being available for personal consultation, and generally serving as a kind of scholarly older brother or sister for the student.
In many ways this is good, as mentorship acknowledges the way in which education takes place across a number of different relationships, some less purely academic. Thus, it implicitly defines education and learning as activities that transpire throughout the wide spectrum of collegiate activities, ones that cannot be reduced to the classroom, lab, or library. This is excellent, of course, as one of the purposes of higher education is to cultivate in students a thirst for learning that permeates every aspect of his or her life, and that moves far beyond the all-too-rigid confines of the university campus.
But the question remains: how far can this relationship be drawn? To what extent is the professor responsible for the behavior of his or her students? To what extent can the student expect professor oversight? At what point does oversight become meddling? To what degree are professors beholden to their students?
These seem the questions that underlie Prof. Johnson’s blog, as the 88 professors who signed the listening statement are criticized not only for their views, but more importantly because they are professors, and specifically professors at Duke. Taking, for a moment, Prof. Johnson’s assertion (and, by extension, those of his many anonymous commentators) that these professors somehow failed Duke’s students, can we use this incident to define how we see student-faculty-administration-community interaction at the university? This case shows that this issue has immediate and important ramifications: possibly its time to revisit some of these structural discussions.
I hope to do just this in my future writing. I think that the fact that the "listening statement" has provoked such a impassioned response is evidence enough that this relationship is not always understood similarly on all sides of the issue. In short, the reaction against the 88 professors seems to be as much because they 'betrayed' 'their' students as for the anything else they might have said. Anger over the possible inaccuracies of the statement or -- even worse -- a perception that it might be convicting then-unindicted players in the court of social opinion (even at a time when few facts of the case were publicly known), is easy to understand; anger over 'betrayal' seems to point toward an understanding of how professors are supposed to relate to their students that deserves further investigation.
[Edit: After some more poking around I found a saved copy of the 'Listening Statement' here. Knock yourself out.]
At the heart of this post is an understanding about the basic relationship between students and faculty. As illustrated in this comment, “I know of no other criminal case in which the statements and behavior of the students’ own professors constituted grounds for a change of venue,” the students’ “own professors” have a responsibility toward their students, one that was betrayed by the listening statement.
It is first worth noting that the professors that signed the listening statement did understand their relationship with their students similarly, though they thought that it called for a different response, one attentive to the concerns of a different subset of students: in writing the statement, they hoped to stand up for women and minorities that felt silenced or otherwise marginalized in the student body, several of whom were anonymously quoted in the ad. (Again, I’m sorry that this statement seems no longer to exist, for as a touchstone for the controversy it is worth a second look and close reading.)
But a larger issue that this post itself has implicitly raised -- as has the controversy surrounding the case itself -- is what relationship should the university have with its students? How should the faculty of a university treat its students? What things should students expect from faculty, and faculty students?
There are some easy immediate answers to these questions -- respect on all sides, of course, goodwill and the like -- but the larger structural relationship is hard to define. Should universities adopt an in loco parentis relationship toward their students, as was historically the case? Or do contemporary models of student-as-consumer offer more appropriate cues? Still further, how is this relationship complicated in the age of the “helicopter parent”?
There are obviously legal ramifications to these questions, some of which are reverberating through the Duke Lacrosse scandal. But there are also institutional and pedagogical questions that go to the heart of the college experience that deserve some examination: bent on providing a positive college experience and bound to offer a rigorous scholarly curriculum, what responsibilities does a college faculty have toward their students? What (if any) responsibilities do students have to their professors? What about students toward their peers? Or professors to other faculty members?
All too often the professor-student relationship is covered over with the hazy word “mentorship,” a word that is defined in a number of conflicting ways and with a variety of possible interpretations. At root, it seems to be a kind of in loco germanitas (“in place of brother/sister”: excuse me for some made-up Latin), where the professor serves as a kind of older sibling to the student, one with a weight of moral obligations that go beyond the basic legal connotations of the relationship. As such, while the professor is professionally and legally responsible for providing certain educational training, they are also understood to be morally bound to extend a number of extra-educational services to the student, such as being a role-model, offering academic and professional guidance, being available for personal consultation, and generally serving as a kind of scholarly older brother or sister for the student.
In many ways this is good, as mentorship acknowledges the way in which education takes place across a number of different relationships, some less purely academic. Thus, it implicitly defines education and learning as activities that transpire throughout the wide spectrum of collegiate activities, ones that cannot be reduced to the classroom, lab, or library. This is excellent, of course, as one of the purposes of higher education is to cultivate in students a thirst for learning that permeates every aspect of his or her life, and that moves far beyond the all-too-rigid confines of the university campus.
But the question remains: how far can this relationship be drawn? To what extent is the professor responsible for the behavior of his or her students? To what extent can the student expect professor oversight? At what point does oversight become meddling? To what degree are professors beholden to their students?
These seem the questions that underlie Prof. Johnson’s blog, as the 88 professors who signed the listening statement are criticized not only for their views, but more importantly because they are professors, and specifically professors at Duke. Taking, for a moment, Prof. Johnson’s assertion (and, by extension, those of his many anonymous commentators) that these professors somehow failed Duke’s students, can we use this incident to define how we see student-faculty-administration-community interaction at the university? This case shows that this issue has immediate and important ramifications: possibly its time to revisit some of these structural discussions.
I hope to do just this in my future writing. I think that the fact that the "listening statement" has provoked such a impassioned response is evidence enough that this relationship is not always understood similarly on all sides of the issue. In short, the reaction against the 88 professors seems to be as much because they 'betrayed' 'their' students as for the anything else they might have said. Anger over the possible inaccuracies of the statement or -- even worse -- a perception that it might be convicting then-unindicted players in the court of social opinion (even at a time when few facts of the case were publicly known), is easy to understand; anger over 'betrayal' seems to point toward an understanding of how professors are supposed to relate to their students that deserves further investigation.
[Edit: After some more poking around I found a saved copy of the 'Listening Statement' here. Knock yourself out.]
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Hiring and the Academy: A Response to "Durham in Wonderland"
(Written in response to the post on Tuesday, December 12th, 2006, entitled “Creating Wahneema’s World.”)
Posts such as this that target University hiring practices without looking into the specifics of what goes on highlight some of the weaknesses of indiscriminate blogging. Here I reference Prof. Johnson’s comment, “Imagine, for instance, a U.S. History position, with a search committee composed of Chafe, Thavolia Glymph (who lamented that things were “moving backwards” when DNA tests revealed no matches to lacrosse players), and Peter Wood (who has gone out of his way to appear to slander his own students).” Even accepting the premise that these three subscribe to a “groupthink” that would necessarily be negative (such a point would require further elaboration that can here be broached), the idea that such a committee would ever be assembled, and that they would have no oversight from their department(s) at large is grossly mistaken.
Quite simply, this is not the way that hiring committees work: specific committees, usually made up of between three and five members (though varying from department to department, search to search, and university to university), are responsible for directing the initial phases of the candidate search, but no matter the amount of independence found at early stages, the hire is always subject to departmental overview at the final stage. Thus, even if the “’groupthink’ search committee” brings in three “ideologues” for interviews, the department can always reject all candidates.
So not only is all not lost, there are actually a good number of mechanisms in place at Duke and across academia that forestall just the type of hiring “horrors” that Prof. Johnson here bemoans. True, targeted hires work quite differently (not the same as senior hires, it’s worth pointing out, though Prof. Johnson seems to collapse the two) and may in some cases be in need of additional scrutiny, but the normal process of hiring is conducted with oversight and backstops: this is not a willy-nilly process.
Anyone with experience in academic hiring practices is aware of such facts, and to suggest that candidates are somehow railroaded is irresponsible. Blogging is certainly a wonderful resource and has opened avenues of information dissemination, but without editorial oversight they rely on either a) authorial vigilance, or b) community oversight. In regards to this particular post I feel it’s important to point out some of the missteps, such as that highlighted above. I find much of Prof. Johnson’s work regarding the Duke Lacrosse case both well-researched and well-intentioned, but as this blog has moved further afield from those specifics its factual basis is growing more questionable.
Let me respond to one other mischaracterization in this post: African and African-American Studies does not have fifteen full-time, dedicated faculty members. Instead, they have fifteen core professors: professors housed in other departments who teach the majority of AAAS courses. As the program turns into a fully-fledged department this will certainly change, but it is inaccurate to state that “13.8 percent of the arts and sciences faculty can offer classes in a major that attracts only 0.5 percent of the school’s undergraduate body as majors.” Rather, these fifteen professors are responsible for teaching X number of classes (say, for instance, at two classes a semester for each professor, a total of 60 classes a year, though I will point out that this is an assumed number, and not one that I have researched), Y of which will be listed in AAAS, and a high percentage of those (not 100%, I don’t believe, but close), will also be cross-listed in other departments (often the professor’s home departments).
This is all a complicated outgrowth of the modern university, one that is seeking to move beyond traditional disciplinary boundaries to more fluid and specialized study. (It should be pointed out that this is taking place across the university, in the sciences as well as in the humanities.) The upshot of it is that the 13.8% of professors dedicated to 0.5% of the majors is the result of superficial manipulation of numbers, not a close look at how the AAAS program actually operates within the complex world of Trinity College departments.
The larger issue that interests me, of course, is how this case has demonstrated a wide variety of positions taken by academics within the public and scholarly arenas, and how the general public has responded to these interventions. “Durham in Wonderland” is an example of this, both in the way that it represents an academic’s take on the issue, and the manner in which it has gone out of its way to critique the role that some of Duke’s faculty have played in the last few months. In fact, I believe that it was this interaction that first prompted Prof. Johnson’s interest.
This is to be lauded: not only do I think that scholars have an obligation to engage the public realm, but those interactions should be as closely critiqued by their peers as their scholarly work. What we as academics and scholars demand is intellectual rigor, and that should be the case both inside and outside the ivory tower, however differently articulated. As representative of just such a critique, I can respect the work of “Durham in Wonderland,” even as I may disagree with it from time to time.
But this is not to say that all critique is equal, or that every engagement on the part of this blog has been productive. Useful though many of the comments have been, and vigilant though the community is that it has produced, I have come to wonder if the conversation that it engenders is always productive, with regard to both the lacrosse case in specific and the nature of the Duke (and, moreover, the university) more broadly. Certainly, no public figure can be held responsible for every reaction that he provokes within his intended audience, but as the comments on this blog have become more racist, less informed, and as the blog posts themselves have moved away from clearly articulating specific responses to the case toward more general speculations about Duke and the humanities at large, I have begun to wonder if this example of public intellectualism is not as harmful as some of those that it critiques.
As I see it, the role of the public intellectual is to raise the level of popular discourse, to clarify obscurities, and to generally illuminate the complexities of the world around us. They are responsible for moving the conversation forward toward solutions, for explicating generalizations, and for educating the public. Accuracy is (or course) a part of this, but so is recognizing perception, and channeling discussion toward productive topics, and away from party rancor or ill-defined divisiveness.
Posts such as this that target University hiring practices without looking into the specifics of what goes on highlight some of the weaknesses of indiscriminate blogging. Here I reference Prof. Johnson’s comment, “Imagine, for instance, a U.S. History position, with a search committee composed of Chafe, Thavolia Glymph (who lamented that things were “moving backwards” when DNA tests revealed no matches to lacrosse players), and Peter Wood (who has gone out of his way to appear to slander his own students).” Even accepting the premise that these three subscribe to a “groupthink” that would necessarily be negative (such a point would require further elaboration that can here be broached), the idea that such a committee would ever be assembled, and that they would have no oversight from their department(s) at large is grossly mistaken.
Quite simply, this is not the way that hiring committees work: specific committees, usually made up of between three and five members (though varying from department to department, search to search, and university to university), are responsible for directing the initial phases of the candidate search, but no matter the amount of independence found at early stages, the hire is always subject to departmental overview at the final stage. Thus, even if the “’groupthink’ search committee” brings in three “ideologues” for interviews, the department can always reject all candidates.
So not only is all not lost, there are actually a good number of mechanisms in place at Duke and across academia that forestall just the type of hiring “horrors” that Prof. Johnson here bemoans. True, targeted hires work quite differently (not the same as senior hires, it’s worth pointing out, though Prof. Johnson seems to collapse the two) and may in some cases be in need of additional scrutiny, but the normal process of hiring is conducted with oversight and backstops: this is not a willy-nilly process.
Anyone with experience in academic hiring practices is aware of such facts, and to suggest that candidates are somehow railroaded is irresponsible. Blogging is certainly a wonderful resource and has opened avenues of information dissemination, but without editorial oversight they rely on either a) authorial vigilance, or b) community oversight. In regards to this particular post I feel it’s important to point out some of the missteps, such as that highlighted above. I find much of Prof. Johnson’s work regarding the Duke Lacrosse case both well-researched and well-intentioned, but as this blog has moved further afield from those specifics its factual basis is growing more questionable.
Let me respond to one other mischaracterization in this post: African and African-American Studies does not have fifteen full-time, dedicated faculty members. Instead, they have fifteen core professors: professors housed in other departments who teach the majority of AAAS courses. As the program turns into a fully-fledged department this will certainly change, but it is inaccurate to state that “13.8 percent of the arts and sciences faculty can offer classes in a major that attracts only 0.5 percent of the school’s undergraduate body as majors.” Rather, these fifteen professors are responsible for teaching X number of classes (say, for instance, at two classes a semester for each professor, a total of 60 classes a year, though I will point out that this is an assumed number, and not one that I have researched), Y of which will be listed in AAAS, and a high percentage of those (not 100%, I don’t believe, but close), will also be cross-listed in other departments (often the professor’s home departments).
This is all a complicated outgrowth of the modern university, one that is seeking to move beyond traditional disciplinary boundaries to more fluid and specialized study. (It should be pointed out that this is taking place across the university, in the sciences as well as in the humanities.) The upshot of it is that the 13.8% of professors dedicated to 0.5% of the majors is the result of superficial manipulation of numbers, not a close look at how the AAAS program actually operates within the complex world of Trinity College departments.
The larger issue that interests me, of course, is how this case has demonstrated a wide variety of positions taken by academics within the public and scholarly arenas, and how the general public has responded to these interventions. “Durham in Wonderland” is an example of this, both in the way that it represents an academic’s take on the issue, and the manner in which it has gone out of its way to critique the role that some of Duke’s faculty have played in the last few months. In fact, I believe that it was this interaction that first prompted Prof. Johnson’s interest.
This is to be lauded: not only do I think that scholars have an obligation to engage the public realm, but those interactions should be as closely critiqued by their peers as their scholarly work. What we as academics and scholars demand is intellectual rigor, and that should be the case both inside and outside the ivory tower, however differently articulated. As representative of just such a critique, I can respect the work of “Durham in Wonderland,” even as I may disagree with it from time to time.
But this is not to say that all critique is equal, or that every engagement on the part of this blog has been productive. Useful though many of the comments have been, and vigilant though the community is that it has produced, I have come to wonder if the conversation that it engenders is always productive, with regard to both the lacrosse case in specific and the nature of the Duke (and, moreover, the university) more broadly. Certainly, no public figure can be held responsible for every reaction that he provokes within his intended audience, but as the comments on this blog have become more racist, less informed, and as the blog posts themselves have moved away from clearly articulating specific responses to the case toward more general speculations about Duke and the humanities at large, I have begun to wonder if this example of public intellectualism is not as harmful as some of those that it critiques.
As I see it, the role of the public intellectual is to raise the level of popular discourse, to clarify obscurities, and to generally illuminate the complexities of the world around us. They are responsible for moving the conversation forward toward solutions, for explicating generalizations, and for educating the public. Accuracy is (or course) a part of this, but so is recognizing perception, and channeling discussion toward productive topics, and away from party rancor or ill-defined divisiveness.
Initial Thoughts on Matters at Hand
As Duke Lacrosse case has unfolded over the past few months, one of the issues raised is whether and to what extent Duke professors and administrators should involve themselves in an ongoing criminal investigation. Blogs such as KC Johnson’s “Durham in Wonderland” and Bill Anderson’s posts on LewRockwell.com have raised outraged and angry voices criticizing Duke’s faculty and administrators for their intervention – or lack thereof – in the ongoing case. These criticisms raise a number of interesting points, sometimes quite persuasively. From their full-voiced howl over Dr. Houston Baker, Jr.’s open letter to the administration, to their lambasting of President Richard Brodhead over any one of a seemingly limitless number of perceived missteps, these critics have taken issue at the way in which the University has interacted with the media, the Durham community, the student body, and the alumni following the March 16th party on Buchanan Blvd.
What each of these criticisms implicitly debate is the role of the university within its surrounding community. The so-called “town-gown” relationship that was the object of so much scrutiny in the months immediately after the party is one aspect of this, but it extends to larger concerns over what role the administration has to play in students’ non-academic lives, how the administration and the faculty interact with one another, and how Duke represents itself to the greater Durham community – to name just a few of the complicated relationships. Bloggers have been right to focus on these reactions as productive of many of the tensions demonstrated in the Lacrosse case, and have further been sensitive to these concerns as the case has played out in the mainstream media and on the internet.
There is also a larger issue at play in this controversy, and one that has been the focus of much of my interest in the case: the changing role of the public intellectual in American culture. Since the beginning, observers have taken academics to task for their positions on the controversy, and academics themselves have been critical of their colleague’s various positions. Underlying this criticisms are implicit questions about the role of the public intellectual in American culture and the position of the academy within society. Further questions have been raised about the role or the humanities and the value of a liberal arts education, questions that dovetail with those regarding the public intellectual.
These are not new questions, nor ones that are particularly surprising given the context. However, the are worth considering at some length, as a society’s positioning of its intellectual class has deep repercussions for how it interacts in the world and how it is able to reflect on its place therein. There is no simple or necessary correct way for this relationship to unfold, but attention to its details and its historical context allows for an understanding of our current situation in a way that I hope will allow us to think our way through this current conundrum in a productive way.
What I hope to do with my posts on the Duke Lacrosse controversy is to investigate how these events reflect upon the role of the public intellectual in the United States. While interest in specifics, I hope to remain focused on the interplay of the academy and society and think about ways to make the relationship more productive and mutually beneficial. I welcome any and all comments on my efforts, and while many posts may spiral off onto other subjects (I do not intend to try to maintain a tight reign on all involved individuals), this is my generating subject and my primary concern here.
What each of these criticisms implicitly debate is the role of the university within its surrounding community. The so-called “town-gown” relationship that was the object of so much scrutiny in the months immediately after the party is one aspect of this, but it extends to larger concerns over what role the administration has to play in students’ non-academic lives, how the administration and the faculty interact with one another, and how Duke represents itself to the greater Durham community – to name just a few of the complicated relationships. Bloggers have been right to focus on these reactions as productive of many of the tensions demonstrated in the Lacrosse case, and have further been sensitive to these concerns as the case has played out in the mainstream media and on the internet.
There is also a larger issue at play in this controversy, and one that has been the focus of much of my interest in the case: the changing role of the public intellectual in American culture. Since the beginning, observers have taken academics to task for their positions on the controversy, and academics themselves have been critical of their colleague’s various positions. Underlying this criticisms are implicit questions about the role of the public intellectual in American culture and the position of the academy within society. Further questions have been raised about the role or the humanities and the value of a liberal arts education, questions that dovetail with those regarding the public intellectual.
These are not new questions, nor ones that are particularly surprising given the context. However, the are worth considering at some length, as a society’s positioning of its intellectual class has deep repercussions for how it interacts in the world and how it is able to reflect on its place therein. There is no simple or necessary correct way for this relationship to unfold, but attention to its details and its historical context allows for an understanding of our current situation in a way that I hope will allow us to think our way through this current conundrum in a productive way.
What I hope to do with my posts on the Duke Lacrosse controversy is to investigate how these events reflect upon the role of the public intellectual in the United States. While interest in specifics, I hope to remain focused on the interplay of the academy and society and think about ways to make the relationship more productive and mutually beneficial. I welcome any and all comments on my efforts, and while many posts may spiral off onto other subjects (I do not intend to try to maintain a tight reign on all involved individuals), this is my generating subject and my primary concern here.
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