APA Newsletters
Fall 1999
Volume 99, Number 1

Articles

Recently, I attended a feminist conference panel on professional issues confronting women in academia. The purpose of the discussion was to give women, especially women at earlier stages in their academic careers, advice about how to negotiate the various barriers that sexism places between them and success. Many of the panelists were advising women to conform to particular institutional norms if they wanted to receive tenure. Advice ranged from trivial examples ("don’t let your colleagues see your hairy armpits") to the more profound ("try to be popular with your colleagues," or "don’t criticize the department"). At one point, an untenured woman asked a senior woman well known for her concerns about feminist mentoring how she thought feminists would be able to transform academic institutions while conforming to their norms. The question was respectful and sincere; however, the senior woman’s reply indicated some defensiveness and discomfort with thinking about issues of conformity and academic success for feminists. She jokingly replied that the questioner had "basically called her a ‘dupe of the capitalist patriarchy’." The issue was never seriously addressed. The exchange between these two women illustrates how senior feminists can support institutional norms in ways that undercut younger feminists’ aspirations for institutional change. While sometimes these aspirations may be naļve or unrealistic, they might sometimes be important to an individual’s sense of self; sometimes they might entail battles worth fighting even though they will not be won; and sometimes they might actually be attainable with the support of other feminists. In this case, the senior woman’s belief that it is better for women to conform to the norms of their academic institutions in order to receive tenure undermines the efforts of untenured feminists to challenge those norms. The senior woman believed that institutions can be changed only when more women receive power in those institutions; however, the untenured woman believed that institutions do not change when the only untenured women who meet with approval are the ones who conform to institutional norms.

The senior woman is savvy to the fact that not "rocking the boat," avoiding unwinnable or essentially trivial battles, and attempting to be "collegial" even around people who treat you badly are all more likely to get tenure for junior faculty. But, what does the undeniable reality that women in academia are discriminated against and feminist nonconformity is often punished imply for feminist solidarity? In this paper I will discuss some of the ways in which the current backlash against feminism in the U.S. shaped some of my experiences as I looked for a tenure-track job and worked temporarily in a variety of departments. Specifically, I am concerned about the implications of antifeminist backlash for relations between feminist philosophers at various stages of their careers. In my discussion of this issue, I will explore some of the connections between feminist philosophy and feminist politics and attempt to show how a clearer understanding of the demands of feminist solidarity might improve the climate for feminist philosophers.

Crucially, many other feminists have supported (and continue to support) me and other women. Like many of my untenured or recently tenured feminist colleagues, I have benefited enormously from the support I have received from other feminist philosophers. Many have helped me by writing letters of recommendation, providing crucial feedback on my work, being supportive in department meetings, strategizing about teaching, and offering useful advice when needed. I owe a tremendous debt to these women. Their treatment of other women has been, for me, a model of feminist solidarity and the difference this can make in the personal and professional lives of feminist philosophers. These feminists taught me by the example of their lives that feminist solidarity promotes feminist flourishing. In the context of academic feminism, feminist philosophers are most likely to flourish in our writing and teaching when we have the support of our feminist colleagues.

I have relationships with feminist colleagues that are personally and professionally nourishing. Recently, I was fortunate to be in the same department as another untenured feminist philosopher, and I learned a lot from that experience about the possibilities for solidarity among feminists. We were able to talk and strategize about teaching feminism to antifeminist students, integrating feminist and critical race theories into standard philosophy courses, negotiating departmental politics, and our feminist research and writing. Our support of each other made all the difference. I often wonder if this is the kind of support that people (especially white men) who do mainstream, canonical philosophy have all the time.

There are many feminist philosophers who have worked to transform institutions by supporting graduate students who want to study feminist philosophy, contributing to better sexual harassment policies on their campuses, playing active roles in women’s studies programs, and promoting equity in their departments and classrooms. Given the fact that many philosophy departments in the U.S. have few tenured women, these feminists have often worked alone or with very little support. When feminist philosophers work to transform institutions, they contribute to the creation of spaces for the next generation where feminist philosophy and philosophers can flourish.

While many feminists have worked to improve the treatment of women at their institutions, it has been disappointing for me to discover that the tensions between living one’s feminist politics and being a feminist philosopher within an academic institution can inhibit feminist solidarity. When the demands of one’s feminist politics are pitted against the demands of institutions in which one works, feminists are faced with a choice between working to change the institution or supporting its norms by default. Consider some of the things said to me during job interviews and on the job. Some of these comments were made by non- or antifeminist men and some were made by other feminists; all were made in contexts that made clear they were hostile. To the extent that other early career feminist philosophers have heard similar remarks, the examples I offer here can provide some insight into the various forms of the antifeminist backlash. The fact that it is unclear which comments were made by feminists and which by non- or antifeminists shows how feminist solidarity can be inhibited when senior feminists choose to support institutional norms rather than their less powerful colleagues’ challenges to those norms:

1. "As you know, we are looking for someone who can teach both feminist philosophy and early modern philosophy. So, let’s start with what you don’t know—what would you do in an early modern course?" This comment seems fairly ordinary. All candidates are asked to demonstrate how their qualifications match the job description. What I find objectionable about this comment is the assumption that only someone who specializes in feminist philosophy must not "know" early modern philosophy because she is intellectually narrow.

2. "What would you do if a female student came to your office to talk about ‘personal’ problems like sexual harassment or rape?" This is an example of the sort of question feminist philosophers are often asked in order to determine whether or not they will "fit in" with their colleagues. In order to be hired or be tenured, one has to demonstrate that one fits in with one’s colleagues and with the mission of the institution. However, demonstrating that one "fits in" can be a murky terrain for feminists and for women in general. In this example, the questioner is indirectly trying to determine whether the feminist candidate will side with her male colleagues or with a female student in accusations of sexual harassment or rape. In order to be perceived as "collegial," a feminist candidate would have to indicate that she would defend her colleagues. If a feminist candidate indicates a tendency to support female students, she might be viewed as a potential troublemaker. It is unlikely that a committee would say that they did not hire, tenure, or promote a feminist philosopher because she’s a feminist, but a committee might say that she’s not a good fit with the department or university. The criteria used to determine whether or not a candidate "fits" leave a lot of room for judgments that have nothing to do with a candidate’s professional competence.

3. "We are concerned about whether or not you are a rigorous grader." This comment reflects an assumption that is frequently made by those hostile to feminist philosophy, namely, the assumption that the standards of feminist philosophy are significantly lower than the standards of other areas of philosophy. Comments of this sort might also reflect skepticism about the philosophical training of someone who specializes in feminist philosophy, a skepticism that would not be extended in the same way (if at all) to a male candidate who specializes in epistemology, for example. Finally, the assumption that feminist philosophy is somehow "easy" informs the belief held by those hostile to feminism that an article published in a mainstream philosophy journal is more valuable than an article published in a feminist journal.

4. "Your specialization seems too specialized." Comments of this sort have always puzzled me. This seems to be one version of the belief that feminist philosophy is not real philosophy. In other words, it is not enough to specialize in feminist philosophy. If one wants to be taken seriously as a philosopher, one must also specialize in a more traditional area such as ethics, philosophy of language, or continental philosophy. However, a candidate who specializes in nineteenth- and twentieth-century continental philosophy would not also have to specialize in feminist philosophy in order to be taken seriously as a philosopher.

5. "Yes, your credentials in feminist philosophy are very impressive, but can you teach Introduction to Philosophy?" This comment assumes that feminist philosophers are insufficiently familiar with other areas of philosophy to teach an introductory undergraduate course in the discipline. Surely people with Ph.D.s in philosophy are able to develop and teach an Introduction to Philosophy course. Feminists are at no more or less of a disadvantage in this regard.

6. "If we hired you, would you still talk about lesbians or be out in your classroom?" No comment.

7. "Surely, racism and sexism will end, so where do you see your work going in the future—say, in the next five to seven years?" No comment.

8. "Well, if you’re not happy with what you’re doing or if your job search isn’t successful, you could work in a factory. You could be happy with a job like that." I’ll return to this example later.

Unfortunately, I could continue. These and other experiences have made me wary of celebrations of feminist success in philosophy at the end of the twentieth century. When I listen to women talk about what it was like for them in graduate school and on the job market twenty years ago or more, I notice some improvements. For instance, it is now possible to take classes in feminist philosophy, and, in some cases, it is possible to write a dissertation in feminist philosophy. When I was a graduate student, no male professor ever interrupted his lecture to ask if I was in the right room because he was not used to seeing women in his classes (as happened to a senior colleague, now in her sixties). However, I also notice some similarities. Sexual harassment continues to be a reality. It is still possible to be the only woman in one’s department, and despite feminist philosophy’s important contributions to the discipline, many feminist philosophers continue to struggle to have our work taken seriously.

* * *

When I decided to enter philosophy, I expected to have to deal with men who would say that my work was not philosophical, that I was not a "good philosopher," and that my specialization in feminist philosophy was too specialized. I expected these things because this is what listening to the experiences of more senior feminist philosophers taught me to expect. I knew that I would have to struggle as many of them have struggled. But, I did not expect that some of the gatekeeping of "real, good philosophy" would be performed by other feminist philosophers. I was not prepared for the fact that there would be feminist philosophers who do not question the boundaries of what counts as "real" philosophy and who cling to the idea that having to deal with the obstacles with which they dealt builds character. I was not prepared for feminist philosophers who do not question why certain obstacles have to be there at all.

I am not suggesting that all gatekeeping is inherently wrong, that there is no such thing as "good" philosophy, or that feminist philosophers have an obligation to approve of and support any work that any feminist or woman does. Obviously, the answer is not to do away with all standards. Rather, my concern is the way in which the efforts to maintain canonical purity often characterize feminist philosophy as marginal to the concerns of real philosophy. Both nonfeminist philosophers and feminist philosophers perform types of canon maintenance with negative implications for the flourishing of feminist research, although they do it slightly differently. Nonfeminist philosophers concerned with maintaining the purity of the discipline might consider feminist philosophy in general as outside the concerns of the discipline. Feminist philosophers who have been traditionally trained might only accept feminist philosophy that utilizes traditional methods or addresses traditional questions or historical figures as "real" philosophy, no matter what its intellectual quality. An implication of this characterization is the opposition it establishes between being a good feminist and being a good philosopher.

Thus, a feminist philosopher who is interviewing for a job might be taken more seriously as a "good philosopher" if she also has expertise in another more mainstream subdiscipline or one of the "great men" in the history of western philosophy. At first glance, this expectation might not seem objectionable. After all, there have been many feminist philosophical contributions to mainstream areas. For example, feminist epistemology offers some of the most innovative work in epistemology, and the "Re-reading the Canon" series has provided interesting feminist philosophical work on numerous canonical figures such as Plato, Descartes, and Kant. In addition, it is certainly better to hire a candidate with expertise in more than one area of philosophy. However, philosophers who specialize in social and political philosophy or metaphysics do not automatically have their identities as "real" philosophers questioned in the way that feminist philosophers, critical race theorists, or queer theorists do. Another implication of the view that being a feminist philosopher is not the same as being a "real" philosopher is that, in some departments, feminist philosophy courses are not taken as seriously as other courses as part of a good, sound philosophical education. This view can have negative implications for feminist philosophers as they look for jobs or work toward tenure in their departments. These struggles mark some of the differences between feminist philosophers of my generation (who received their Ph.D.s within the past ten years and are often in their twenties and thirties) and feminist philosophers who received their Ph.D.s twenty years ago or more.

I decided to study philosophy and to become a philosopher as a result of feminist philosophy, not because I read Plato or other "great men" in the philosophical canon. I knew that I wanted to study philosophy after I took a feminist philosophy course as an undergraduate. It was my first course in philosophy. In that course I read Sarah Hoagland, Jeffner Allen, Alison Jaggar, Adrienne Rich, Audre Lorde, Angela Davis, Charlotte Bunch, Susan Griffin, Mary Daly, Joyce Trebilcot, Marķa Lugones, Elizabeth Spelman, and many others. These are the women who inspired me, who convinced me that I could be a philosopher, and who taught me that feminist philosophy is important and transformative. I wanted to play a part in creating spaces where women could be empowered and transformed, as I was in that class. It gave me an appreciation of the power of ideas—of education—to change consciousness and social and political realities. I continue to believe that education has this radical potential, and this is one reason why I am interested in the kinds of spaces we create for feminists in academia.

As a student, I thought that being a feminist philosopher involved the intellectual activity of researching and writing about women’s oppression and resistance; however, I also thought that being a feminist philosopher involved a political commitment to use the insights gained from feminist theorizing in one’s life. I thought this as a result of reading feminist theorists who asserted that there was a connection between feminist theory and practice, the personal and the political. I understood feminist political commitments to include using one’s talents as much as possible to improve women’s lives (not just one’s own life) and striving to have respectful relationships with other women in one’s own life.

I am frustrated and angered when I hear feminists talking about how much better things are for feminists in academia these days. Of course, some things are better, but uncritical celebrations of feminist successes fail to take note of the ways women are still struggling to have our work recognized by our colleagues and to get secure jobs. The fact is, in the midst of budget cuts and retirements, many philosophy departments are uncertain about when and if they will be able to hire anyone in the near future. In the face of such uncertainties (coupled with the threats to traditional philosophy presented by feminist philosophers and critical race theorists), philosophers with tenure are making decisions about who to hire or who not to hire. The choices that many philosophy departments are making seem to be aimed at the preservation of mainstream, canonical philosophy and policing the borders of the discipline. For feminist philosophers, this situation is exacerbated by the reality that we are often being evaluated by people who know absolutely nothing about feminist theory, a phenomenon that has few obvious parallels in other subdisciplines.

Feminist philosophers need to be aware of the subtle ways feminist philosophy is marginalized in relation to "real" philosophy, especially when it is used as a reason not to hire feminist philosophers. Faced with the choice between hiring a logician and hiring a feminist philosopher, members of a search committee in an analytic department will probably say that any good program in philosophy needs a logician, but it’s not clear that any good program in philosophy needs a feminist philosopher or a critical race theorist. The latter are mere trends, but logic has always been and will always be a part of philosophy. The problem with this approach is not the view that a philosophy department needs someone who can teach logic. The problem is that feminist and critical race theories are assumed to be expendable parts of a philosophy program. However, the reality is that feminist philosophy’s significant contributions to the discipline have created a situation in which no good program in philosophy is complete unless there is someone who can teach and do research in feminist philosophy.

* * *

So far, I have been focusing on the ways certain conceptions of philosophy can trivialize and exclude feminist philosophy and, thus, create obstacles for feminist philosophers at earlier stages in our careers. However, feminist philosophers who do not focus some energy on transforming their institutions can also (inadvertently) contribute to obstacles for their more junior feminist colleagues. Some feminists might claim that efforts to transform academic institutions take energy away from real feminist activism. Some of these feminists might wonder why I am choosing to focus on the profession of philosophy or finding a place within academia. After all, this issue affects only a small number of relatively privileged women, and there are women who are struggling to survive all over the world.

As I have thought about these objections, I have wondered about the assumed distinction between what is clearly inside and what is clearly outside legitimate feminist concern. Even though feminist philosophers do not have all of the advantages of our male colleagues, those who have achieved tenure do have some institutional power that their untenured feminist colleagues do not have. And, to the extent that feminist philosophers have some degree of authority and power, they must be accountable for the ways that authority and power are used. Given feminist commitments to understanding how all oppressions interrelate and to ending all forms of oppression, feminist solidarity involves using one’s power and authority to challenge institutionalized racism, sexism, class discrimination, and heterosexism.

As a result of continuing hostility toward women and feminists in society, it is sometimes difficult for feminist philosophers to understand ourselves as privileged in our institutions. When feminist philosophers (especially those of us who are untenured) challenge unacceptable behavior or policy in our departments, we are often punished. In addition, feminists are often marginalized and ignored by our colleagues when we don’t live (or when we aren’t perceived to live) visible, recognizable heterosexual or otherwise male-identified lives. That is, when we have no known male partner or when we are lesbians or are perceived to be lesbians, feminist philosophers may not be considered a "good fit" by some of our colleagues. Given these struggles, it is easy to understand why a feminist philosopher might not perceive herself as a powerful member of her department or as an institutional insider. Even though I am untenured, I realize that I am probably viewed by many as unproblematically inside the profession of philosophy. I am certainly privileged in many ways. I have a salaried, tenure-track job, and there are many very qualified women who do not have jobs, or who are in temporary or part-time positions. I am also white, well educated, and currently able-bodied. Given these privileges, I have occasionally been criticized for focusing my political concern on transforming academic institutions. In other words, in a world where poverty, racism, and sexism are making it difficult for many women in the world to survive, focusing one’s energies on how the discipline of philosophy and academia in general are policed seems like a luxury.

I take this criticism seriously and certainly don’t want to suggest that transforming the profession of philosophy ought to be at the top of the list for feminist political action. What has troubled me the most about the objections to my concerns, however, has been the fact that these objections have often been made by tenured feminist philosophers. These are the feminists who say, "Who cares about the profession? Who cares about academia? Who cares about the department?" The assumption is that being concerned with the profession of philosophy is a sign of privilege, an indication that one believes academic institutions can work for one’s benefit. In other words, one fruitlessly invests one’s energies in speaking to power if one continues to naively believe that the powerful will listen and change once the truth of the matter is revealed. There could be some truth to this claim. However, it seems to me that working within institutions while claiming that one should not trouble to transform them is also a sign of privilege, an indication that one has achieved some degree of comfort in the institution and is, thus, insufficiently motivated to change something from which one benefits. The perceived need to work for change often stems from the realization that one is not benefiting from, and in fact may be harmed by, present structures of power. I worry that the practice of philosophy and ideas of what it means to be a "good philosopher" are preventing many feminists from getting good jobs. When these worries are met with responses such as "there are other things you could do with your life," or "maybe philosophy is not for you," or "who cares about philosophy or academic institutions anyway?" I feel demoralized and angry. Somehow, I was not prepared to hear these dismissals from other feminist philosophers.

The suggestion that one should leave academia if one does not like how feminist philosophy and philosophers are treated is strikingly similar to the claim made by some conservative Americans that immigrants to the U.S. should go back to their country of origin if they have any criticisms of this one. Even though the suggestion is that I should leave philosophy if I don’t like certain aspects of it, I do not see any of these tenured feminists leaving the security and privilege of their health benefits, good salaries, travel money, summers, and sabbaticals for writing. The next generation of feminist philosophers should also be able to get this support for our work. When feminist philosophers benefit from their institutions, frequently enforce its rules, and work within the profession of philosophy, they only act in solidarity with other feminists when they also try to transform those institutions into places where feminist philosophy and feminist philosophers can flourish.

Notes

1. I would like to thank Cressida Heyes, Kathryn Kirkpatrick, and the anonymous reviewers for their helpful suggestions and careful reading of earlier versions of this paper.