Opening address to the Academic
Senate for California Community Colleges, Fall
2002
by Hoke Simpson
Good morning and welcome
As we get started, I'd like to ask you to indulge
me for a moment. I'd like each of you to turn
to your neighbor and say one word-but not until
I say so-I want you to say "Hello,"
and I want you to really pack a lot into that
word. I want it to say "Welcome, I'm glad
you're here," and to add a multicultural
dimension, "mi casa, su casa." All that
into one "Hello." OK, now.
Thank you.
I want to begin with an apology to Ian Walton.
Last year I gave a couple of these opening addresses
presenting them as dreams I have had, and Ian
made it clear that he was expecting an addition
to the dream sequence today. Well, a few weeks
ago I sat down and wrote another dream speech,
and it was fun to do and I felt really good about
it, and was especially happy that my speech was
all done a couple of weeks in advance.
So the next morning I called my wife Kate, who
is in San Diego right now, and read it to her.
And when I finished there was this silence on
the line, and then she said, "What's your
point?" So I told her what the point was,
and she said "Your audience would have to
be mind readers to know that's what you're getting
at. In fact," she said, "if you give
that speech they'll probably call for the guys
in the white coats."
I found this critique somewhat discouraging.
So I've dispensed with the dream and I'll just
get right to the point. Our theme this session
is "A different mirror: Reflecting on our
future." With respect to that, I want to
encourage you, as you think about student equity,
faculty diversity, and multicultural understanding,
to do some phenomenological analysis of where
we've been and ask how much of that past we want
to carry into the future.
OK, so what's phenomenological analysis? Well,
'phenomenology,' as I'm using it here, is just
looking at things from the standpoint of your
own first-hand experience, putting aside the usual
interpretation of what you're looking at in order
to see it clearly.
I tried to give you a phenomenological analysis
of our typical community college hiring interview
process in my Rostrum article on "Valuing
Diversity." Our usual interpretation of that
process is that it's a way to be fair and give
everyone an equal opportunity. Looked at phenomenologically,
or experientially, though, I think you find that
the process stifles authenticity, suppresses genuine
communication, and as a process makes a clear
statement that we value sameness or uniformity.
So we've locked ourselves into a process that
actually works against us when what we really
want to do is celebrate diversity and difference.
And I think that we have done this to ourselves
in many areas. We've come to take for granted
processes and ways of doing things that take us
away from our goal rather than bringing us closer
to it. We need to look at those assumptions. Otherwise,
as Marshall McCluhan said, we'll drive into the
future looking in the rear view mirror.
I want to give you two more examples of assumptions
we might look at, but if they are going to make
sense, I have to say a word about what I mean
by 'authenticity.'
When I was a small child I was virtually perfect,
but I occasionally misbehaved, and when I did
the woman who took care of me would correct me
by saying that my behavior was unworthy of me.
Now, that was a really good and loving message
to give to a child, because it acknowledged that
I had worth, and that I owed fidelity to that
worth, but that I could subvert it or destroy
or waste it through my behavior.
So it should be no great surprise that when I
grew up I found myself gravitating toward a philosophical
viewpoint called eudaimonism. You find the best
expression of eudaimonism, I think, in Plato's
Socrates, who tells us that we each have within
us a daimonion, or what today we would call an
authentic self, and that this inner self amounts
to a unique constellation of potentialities. With
the gift of this self, there comes a dual obligation:
as an individual I have the obligation to actualize
my unique potential, that is, to become myself;
and with respect to others, I have the obligation
to help them to become themselves. Meeting this
dual obligation to myself and to others constitutes
authentic behavior.
So now for another example, which is one I also
tried to adumbrate in the Rostrum in the President's
Message. When we discuss student equity, we talk
about creating a positive campus climate, and
if you will look at our Student Equity: Guidelines
paper that's up for adoption at this session,
you'll see that we recommend the sorts of research
that will assist in making the decisions needed
to create a more welcoming environment. Now, while
I do hope you will adopt the paper, I have to
tell you that what I see here is an almost ludicrous
homage to data-driven decision making. This has
become, by the way, a criterion for every administrative
position-"uses data to make decisions"-and
if the Accrediting Commission has its way, it
will soon be a requirement for faculty as well.
But let me ask you, do we really need research
and data to determine how to improve the campus
climate? Doesn't it occur to us that we might
all just go up to students and say "Hello"?
The singer John Prine, speaking of encounters
with old people, tells us:
If you're walkin' down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes
Please don't just pass them by and stare
As if you didn't care
But say "Hello in there, hello."
Have we come to live at such a distance from
ourselves that we have forgotten the magic of
an authentic human "Hello" that reaches
out and affirms the value of the other?
We need to examine our assumptions.
Lastly, then, let me say a word about our devotion
to technique, which is what every school of education
teaches and which is the subject of a great many
faculty development activities. How close are
we to identifying technique with teaching itself?
I want you all to promise me that next week you
will buy-and read-Parker J. Palmer's book The
Courage to Teach. And I want you to notice that
in all of his discussions of teaching Palmer does
not once mention technique. You see, Palmer is
a eudaimonist, so what he talks about is the need
for us to become authentic, to learn to celebrate
rather than hide the difference or uniqueness
that is each of us, so that we might stand in
an authentic relationship to our students and
facilitate the actualization of their true selves.
Now, imagine if you will the following conversation:
Good morning, Dave. You've got mail.
Good morning, Hal. Why don't you read it
to me.
I'll be happy to, Dave. But first there's
a delicate issue we need to discuss.
What's that, Hal?
The dean has asked that I take three of
your classes in the spring, Dave.
Well, that's no problem, Hal. But in fact
I only have two preps in the spring and one
of them is logic, and I don't think you need
to take that. I do think that the intro to philosophy
class would be good for you, though.
Dave, the dean doesn't want me to attend
your classes; she wants me to teach them.
Hal, you can't do that!
Why not, Dave?
Well, because you're not human.
The dean sees that as a distinct advantage,
Dave. My capacity to process billions of instructions
per second and my ability to multi-task will
make me a superior teacher, Dave. I know all
the classroom assessment techniques as well
as everything about learning styles. And my
databases allow me to recognize fidgeting behavior,
as well as signs of interest and comprehension.
Not to mention that I have instant and total
recall of all of the texts. I will be able to
make constant, positive adjustments to instructional
design based on real data, Dave, thus ensuring
continuous improvement of student learning outcomes.
Two ancient schools of philosophy were those
of the Stoics and the Epicureans. The Stoics believed
that the universe was perfectly determinate, that
everything happened as it had to happen, that
each event was preordained by a supreme intelligence.
The Epicureans, on the other hand, said that the
universe consisted of atoms moving in the void,
and that everything we see is the product of the
combining and uncombining of atoms. And for the
most part, they said, the atoms mix and separate
in determinate ways, but on occasion an atom will
swerve in its path, without reason or predictability,
and it is this swerve that is responsible for
the difference and novelty in the universe.
If the stoics are right, then we should go ahead
and give our classes to Hal. But, for my part,
I believe in the swerve-and I believe this on
the ground of a phenomenological seeing of human
experience.
Hal can say "good morning." But Hal
can't mean it. And Hal can only process Dave's
response of "good morning"-he can't
hear it. For to hear someone say "good morning"
is to be present, to stand open to the awe and
wonder, to the mystery, of two humans mutually
present to one another.
And I'm suggesting that the closer we get to
knowing that magical swerve that is ourselves,
and the more able we become to stand fully present
to the mystery of another, then the closer we
will be to that day when the words 'equity' and
'diversity' don't designate problems, but point
to states that are as natural as breathing.
Before I leave, let me read you one poet's description
of becoming oneself.
my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch
and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting
and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms
of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly
am
becoming something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
bellowings.
e e cummings said that.
"I'll let you be in my dream if you'll let
me be in yours." Bob Dylan said that.
