Perhaps on a rare day
by Elouise
Things fall apart
Perhaps on a rare day
They will fall together
Shadows sift through memories
Find her wandering alone
Lost in a forest of horrors
Body parts scattered around
Remains of anonymous whisperers
Still echoing through trees
There’s more than one way
To take a body apart in darkness
Her heart pounds in her chest
She wonders where this will end
All is not necessarily well that ends
Resisting the urge to run
She faces accusers now residing
Within her body of rearranged parts
That don’t remember where they belong
Or where they were going
Before tongues began wagging
Slicing their way through air
Intent on silencing her voice forever
This happened in the early 1990s. I was a tenured full professor. The course was required for all MDiv (Master of Divinity) students. It was the first course I’d taught in which women, men of color, and international students outnumbered white men.
I never saw it coming. The day after I turned in all grades for fall term, the dean asked to see me. At the meeting he gave me the news. During the semester, about half the students from this course had lodged serious concerns with him and with the president about me. More than once.
The seminary president wanted a meeting with me and with the dean to talk about these concerns. No, I could not meet with these students before or after this meeting. No, I could not have a list of names because the students feared retribution. Nor could I have a list of their concerns. Most students who signed the formal complaint were white men; some were men of color; some were women.
I agreed to the meeting only if I had time to review the list of complaints, and only if I could bring a senior colleague—an African American woman of great wisdom and experience.
My requests were resisted. Nonetheless, I persisted, and the meeting took place. It lasted one and a half hours. I felt trapped in someone else’s muck and mire.
Before the meeting, I’d studied the three pages of typed, detailed notes the dean had taken during meetings with students. According to the students, I was sadly deficient in three areas: my theology, my teaching style, and my character. Each area included excruciating detail. I did not recognize myself.
The dean and president denied my request for a meeting with at least some of the students. I was never told who they were. With the exception of a brave few, they remained nameless. Some were doubtless in my later courses.
I wasn’t disciplined. I was, however, broken in spirit, and grateful for my upcoming spring term sabbatical. I was also grateful for my female college who met with me following the meeting to talk about what had just happened and what I’d learned that would help me in the future.
My recent nightmare stirred all this up. The poem is about me. It’s sent out with prayers for all children, young people, adult women and men who endure daily dismemberment and humiliation, seen and unseen.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 21 November 2017
Photo of Deep Forest found at mybligr.com
Daily Prompt: Sludge
I’ve been there. It is soul destroying. It is usually happens to young and inexperienced teacher/lecturers who needs must start somewhere and those who complain have usually just walked out of their favourite teacher’s class and the comparison is obvious. Every new teacher should be in a team teaching situation for the first year.
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John, Thank you for this comment. I agree with your statement about new teachers. By the time this happened, I wasn’t new. I was helping other colleagues come on board. However, no matter when it happens it’s soul destroying. A devastating experience. I also relate to your comment about comparisons. I’m sad for any teacher who receives this treatment. In my setting, it didn’t help (with some students) that I was female, pro-women’s rights in church and society, and Presbyterian (not ordained)–among other things.
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Those nameless students were cowards and not worth bothering with. The President more so!
I’d have told them in a straightforward manner exactly where they could put the job, turned, head held high, and walked out, without looking back or regrets and never returned!
But then that’s me!
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I can picture it now, Brian. Definitely you! 🙂
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My mother thought I was an arrogant little sod!
Wasn’t that at all, just that I knew what was right and the right thing to do.
Must admit I’ve had a couple of unexpected punches to the nose.
Even the War Office once. She actually picked up my beer and poured it over my head. Put me back in my box.
Gave me a good chuckle though. That was just a year or so after we were wed 😀
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You??? An arrogant little sod??? Surely you jest! The WO sounds like she’s quite capable of taking care of herself and you. Good thing…. 🙂
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Methinks she may have been right 😀 but I’m content with that 🙂
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Elouise darling,
I’ve often felt it’s those who try hardest who get the worst crits, and it is deeply unfair that you were left to deal with this more or less alone. Natural justice took a hike, imvho.
How do we learn, without compromising our talent, our unique style? Is it worth doing that, if we end up so circular and stripped out as to be terrified? I’m sure that kind of experience would wreck me too, and I’m in awe of anyone who lectures professionally.
I guess I’m more in sympathy than I’ve ever been, with your previous commentator.
Bless you!
Fran XXXX
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Thank you, Fran! Your comment about my previous commentator made me smile. A lot! 🙂 🙂 🙂
To answer your questions, I refused to compromise my style–which was already well-known. What I did differently, thanks to collaboration with my wise African American colleague who sat through this meeting with me, listening and praying, I got some street smarts about how to read a class, how to respond immediately to seemingly small things, and how to begin creating safe space for myself–not just for my students. I can’t say enough about how much that affected me for the good. It also, in my opinion, became a then-unexpected piece of preparation for becoming dean of the seminary. Lack of preparation for teaching is horrendous among graduate students. I think academic institutions do better today, but only against all odds. It’s way too easy to go with old lecture-test-one research paper models. And, thereby, to set yourself up as the professor for burnout or worse. I think you got me started…..:)
The other piece, of course, is dealing with internal pain and damage inflicted on professors and administrators. If I hadn’t had an experienced, wise psychotherapist working with me, and a handful of friends I trusted completely, I would never have made it. The work I had yet to do with my parents was deeply connected to my ability to function as a leader in the classroom or beyond. So this was a huge wakeup call for me. I had tenure and was a full professor, and I was still a rank beginner when it came to dealing with intimidation and gossip.
Love and hugs, and hoping you’re back from your journey. I’ll go over and take a look today. 🙂
Elouise
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I can see now where your nightmare came from, what a horrible experience E, I wish I could have been your student, you are a wise woman and I consider you a friend, I would have stood up for you, as I hated school and always sided with the good teachers who stood up for me as a not so good student 🙂 peace, love and hugs and I hope you’re learning to let go of this, by getting it off your shoulders, etc…. ❤
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I’m so so grateful for students who knew what was happening, and stood by me. Not just then, but later. One woman who was initially attracted to the scoffer’s row group came to me mid-semester with tears in her eyes. She wanted me to know she’d stopped being part of their gossipy, disparaging backroom chatter, and apologized for having been drawn to it at the beginning. She confirmed what I already suspected–that I had a vociferous group of students who were unhappy. Yet it never occurred to me that they might have been going to the dean and president–or that the dean and president would keep me in the dark for so long.
For me, letting go of things is tricky. What goes around comes around. I let go of this at one level years ago and moved on with my life. However, with all the women coming forward about harassment of women in the workplace–and the behavior of Mr. Trump and Company, it was time to cycle back through this. I’d never written about it bluntly and from my gut. That’s what’s different and freeing for me today. It’s partly about my age, but it’s also about current events, and how I can and will stand with other women, even though they may not like or agree with me all the time.
I would have been thrilled to have you in my classrooms–a free spirit who has more depth than she realizes. That’s how I think I would see you, and where we might meet in the middle, so to speak! 🙂
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aw shucks, you made me smile E. I hear you and yes, to write about it now and share it after all this time is essentially lifting it off your shoulders and sharing the weight with those who are willing to help you carry your load, peeps like me, cause we are a tribe of women who speak freely and stand up for what is right and wrong. I’m just afraid with the barrage of all of these people coming forward, after awhile it will feel, i don’t know, passe may be the word I’m searching for. Like the endless shootings, people become numb after awhile when it becomes everyday. I’d hate to see that happen, so I always pray for the world and for peace every day, in my life and everyone elses too. Yay you ❤ keep up the good fight Super E, you've got Super L in there beating away cheering you on too ❤
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Yes, I think we do need to step up and ‘share the weight’ as you say. It isn’t just about ‘them.’ It’s about us. All of us. The worst thing would be to keep quiet. I have no doubt there will be a monstrous backlash by those who feel entitled to reduce women, children and some men to sub-human status. And you’re correct. Actually dealing with things takes incredible stamina and strategizing. For which we need good leaders. Prayer for peace is always appropriate. I don’t think the sensationalizing of things like sexual harassment or predatory behavior or human trafficking helps us address what’s going on in our back yards, homes and places of business. Just the light from one small candle can bring hope into dark places. And as you suggest, close the gap between ‘us’ and ‘them’ as though some of us aren’t at risk. I think Super L is gasping for air right now! 🙂
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I find this stunning as you were selected 2years running, in my memory, to be the graduation speaker during the general timeframe. Forgive me if a comment I ever made about how challenging, difficult, and sometimes scary I found your classes ever was used in such a witch hunt. Only Vince’s dream analysis class was close to being as scary! Being invited to engage and think and struggle is tough, and I have always been grateful for your invitation! I’m hoping this was in the years that followed… and I know you became Asst. Dean or Dean in the years following. So sorry to hear this and your pain.
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Hi, David. Thanks for your comments. The episode happened in the early 1990s (1993), the year I traveled to Savannah to confront my father about his treatment of me as a child and teenager. It was also my first year as full professor with tenure. As I recall, I gave the opening address at our fall convocation. I became associate dean in 1998. Besides this particular class, only the first course I ever taught at the seminary (1983) turned against me openly–not the entire class (over 60 members), but a large number. The difference back then was that I knew what was going on, though I had no mentor or assigned faculty member to help me get through that first year of teaching.
I’ve gone back through my journals and am horrified at how difficult that year was (1993) due to several issues, not all of them related to the seminary. I’ll probably do a couple more posts about the context and the outcomes for me. I laughed at your comment about Vince’s dream analysis class–and could relate! I always enjoyed having you in courses and seminars. I know it wasn’t always easy. Thanks for your kind comments. 🙂
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Natalie and I graduated Spring of ’92, so we weren’t there. A thought about one piece of the puzzle: In the years leading up to that time there was a conversation in the halls about how the USA was becoming a socialist nation and that most in the seminary supported such a position. I was baffled at how threatened they felt.
This makes me wonder if, in the aftermath of Clinton’s election, one way people could push back was against you. Again, just one piece, but I think it may have been at play.
It makes me wonder if I, confronted by information, ideas, or traditions that I don’t like, choose to attack the professor/teacher instead of looking at myself. Yikes! You’re still challenging me! 🙂
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Never fear, David! You weren’t one to back down from a challenge! Your comments are very interesting. I do know the Board of the University was and is still more traditional politically and socially than the seminary used to be. I don’t know what it’s like now. I do, however, know that some students did not think having a Presbyterian woman teach theology at an American Baptist seminary was a good idea. From the day I interviewed for the position, it was crystal clear to students, staff and faculty that I was pro-woman when it came to disputed issues such as whether women could be ordained, and the proper role they should have at home. At that time (1993) I was also challenging students to think through issues related to sexuality and the way they might deal with them as pastors and church leaders. Definitely a difficult subject, but one we were to address in our courses, while giving a fair hearing to all sides of the topic.
I would agree with you about this: It was easier to take aim at me than it was to take aim at my male colleagues. I also agree that going after the professor is always more fun than accepting the professor’s challenge–no matter what gender they might be! 🙂
Elouise
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