State of the Senate Spring 2002

This is supposed to be a speech on the "state of the system" from the Academic Senate perspective; but I really don't think I have to tell you about the state of the system-you already know it: We're impoverished as usual, and the governor's January budget just promises to make us poorer. In fact nothing has happened to make me take that sign off my office wall that I told you about last Fall, the one that says "It's the funding, Stupid!" In fact, I've been thinking a lot about what Brian Murphy told us at Fall session about how we got into our perpetual fiscal fix, and why it has remained perpetual, and I've spent a good deal of time dreaming about how nice it would be if we could do something about it.

Now, I don't know how many of you read Tom Nussbaum's latest Weekly Update in which he talks about the ideas he had while out jogging by the Sacramento River-but it occurred to me that, together with what I'm about to tell you, you might get the impression that your system leaders in Sacramento spend an inordinate amount of their time hanging out by the river. Anyway, I assure you that the way I was spending my time was considerably less hygienic than Tom's.

Anyway, I was sitting out by the river in Sacramento trying to think of ways to get us some more money-and I don't know if it was the warm breeze, or the quiet lapping of the water, or the flask of Scotch from which I was sipping-but I dozed off and started dreaming.

And in my dream, I found myself asking the same question that had been troubling me while awake: How can the community colleges get more funding? Not even in my dream did it occur to me to ask the Chancellor's Office-they seemed as baffled on this point as I was. No, this was a question that required a higher authority, so I took off once again for heaven. I found God planting flowers in her garden (in my dream it was perfectly evident that God was a female) with a serene look on her face. "You still look happy, God," I said. "Does that mean that you still have Julie Adams running the place?"

"Oh, it's even better than that," God smiled," she's brought along her whole staff. We've got Terry running the office; Tony's taken over for Peter at the front gate; Kathy's straightened out our filing system, Donna's got the accounts in order, and not one of the angels has missed a plane since Germaine started handling their travel." Then God shook her head and God's face was filled with awe. "And just wait until you see the next edition of scripture," said God. "The layout, the design, the art work, the color. Rita put the whole thing together and the result is, well, divine!"

And just at that moment, the heavenly host appeared from around the corner of God's cottage-and they looked just like the Executive Committee-and the firmament was full of their song as they sang "All praise to Julie and the heavenly staff, for they have wrought order out of chaos (no offence, God)!"

"None taken," said God. And then, making her countenance to shine upon me, God asked, "Who are you and what do you want."

"Well," I said, "I represent the largest public postsecondary education system in the known universe."

"Oh," said God, "the California Community Colleges. I do truly love them and the wonderful work they do."

"God," I replied, "you sound just like the California Legislature. They're always saying how they love us, too, but then they fund us at a level that doesn't let us do our job. In fact, God, I came here to ask you if you would help us. And now I'm wondering why, if you really love us, you haven't already seen to our funding needs."

There was a gasp from the heavenly host and a distinct sense that I had violated protocol in challenging God this way. "Don't sweat it," I said. "Job got away with it."

I turned to God, who looked completely unruffled, but only a bit bemused. "I thought you had heard," she said: "God helps those who help themselves."

"Oh great," I said. "Next you'll be giving us a bunch of accountability measures!" And in a mood that was anything but heavenly, I decided to seek help from God's opposite number, and headed off to Hell.

As I descended through the circles of the damned, I couldn't help but notice Grey Davis in the fourteenth circle. He was condemned for eternity to bail out a leaking boat called the Good Ship PG&E, while angry taxpayers jeered at him from the shore.

As I passed the eighteenth circle of Hell-the one reserved for extroverts-I waved to the past Senate presidents. They waved back and, standing shoulder to shoulder, shouted, "It's the funding, Stupid!"

"Yes," I said, "I know. But how are we going to get it?"

Then they all began talking at once. Mike Anker said we should hold a statewide bake sale; Regina said we should form a regional cooperative; Janice suggested a baby sitting service; and Linda said we should borrow seed money from CCLDI and form our own accrediting commission. There would be 37 standards, she said, with 35 of them focused on the authority of the academic senate, and quantitative data would be collected using an applause meter. It was probably just the sulfur fumes, but I found myself getting a headache, so I hurried on.

Finally, in the lowest circle of Hell, I came upon the Prince of Darkness himself (you see, in my dream, it was perfectly clear that Satan was a male). He was leaning against a lamppost dressed all in white: a shimmering sharkskin Armani suit, Regis shirt and tie, tasseled cloven-tipped Guccis, and a white Stetson fedora.

"Lookin' cool," I said.

"As the Devil," came his sly reply. "Somethin' I can do for you?"

As he spoke, I noticed that the room seemed to be drained of life and feeling, and I began to tremble with cold.

"What's going on?" I said. "this is Hell; I thought it was suppose to be hot."

"Oh, the heat's just for them," he said pointing up toward the circles I had recently passed through. "True evil," he said, "is the coldest thing there is."

"Well," I said, "then let me say this quickly, so I can get out of here. The community colleges need money, and I can't get any help from God, so I've come here."

The Devil laughed softly, and the temperature took another quantum leap downward. "Probably gave you that line about 'God helps those who help themselves,' right? Well, you've come to the right place, chum," and he froze me in a look from beneath the brim of his fedora. "You see," he said, "I have a special relationship with many of your California legislators, so I'll just tell them to vote you the funding and they'll do it."

"Wow, thanks," I said. "You can do this for 2002-2003?"

"No sweat," he hissed.

"Great!" I said through chattering teeth. "And thanks again," and I turned to leave.

"Hang on, sport," said the Devil. "I said I'd help. But you know I don't do anything for nothing. There's a price."

"Oh, no," I said. "What now?"

"You'll just have to do things a little differently," said the Devil. "No big deal. First, you're going to have to improve your numbers: higher transfer rates, more successful course completions, all that. And then we'll distribute all this money I'm getting you based on who has the best rates. Second, I want measurable student learning outcomes, every day, in every class. Assess, assess, assess, and then assess again. Give me charts, give me graphs. I want to see those scores for every student rising like dot-com profits in the nineties. Forget about that mushy, high-touch, teaching-as-loving approach you people have been using. I don't care about changing their lives; I want you to change their scores!"

"Oh my god," I said. "Do you mean all those ideas have been coming from you-performance based funding, students as widgets, the corporate ideals of efficiency and productivity, the substitution of quantity for quality-all those things that have been dehumanizing education, they're yours?"

The Devil smiled. "I thought I told you," he said. "True evil is the coldest thing there is."

I felt a hot fury spreading through me. "No deal," I said. "You can go to…" and then it occurred to me where I was, and I turned and raced out of there.

I ran in my dream until I reached what looked like a great cathedral, and I turned and went inside, and you can imagine my surprise when I found I was at a plenary session of the Academic Senate.

"Man, am I glad to see you all," I said. "I just found out that the Devil controls the Legislature, and is behind all the faddish nonsense everyone's trying to impose on us. What can we do?"

Someone approached the pro mic and said, in a voice that sounded like the very soul of reason, "Why don't we take control of the legislature?"

And then, from the parliamentary mic came a gentle question: "Point of clarification. How will we do that?"

And the voice from the pro mic responded, "We get our constituents to vote. We start with the fifty thousand of us, and then move on to our two million students."

"Wow," I said. "Do you really think we can do that?"

And the members of the Academic Senate stood up and shouted with a single voice that shook the very foundations of Hell itself: "Yes, we really CAN do that!"

Well, to tell the truth, I felt somewhat skeptical, but I was certainly heartened by the spirit of my fellow senators, so, in my dream, I walked back to the office at 910 K Street, ready to get to work-but found a sign on the door that said, "Moved to the corner of 4th and J."

I hurried over to the new address and went up to the fourth floor and walked into the most beautiful, spacious headquarters the Academic Senate has ever known, and there to greet me was none other than Julie Adams and the entire heavenly office staff, poised and ready to assist in every way possible.

"It's not just us," Said Julie. Go look in the conference room."

So I opened the door she was pointing to, and there, sitting around the table was the entire heavenly host ready to function as the Executive Committee.

Stunned by my good fortune, I reeled into my office, and there in the center of my desk was a short note. "I've decided to help you out by sending you all my best people," it said, "as it looks like you've finally decided to help yourselves." There was no signature, but I knew who the author was.

At just that point, something must have disturbed me-it was probably Tom jogging by-for I woke up from my dream and found myself looking west across the Sacramento River at a beautiful sunset. And to this day, I'm not sure if it wasn't just a remnant of that dream, but I swear, for just an instant I thought I saw the clouds configure themselves into letters that asked, "Why not?"