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When the Nobel-winning economist Angus Deaton first started examining mortality data in the United States, he assumed there must be an error. Alongside his wife and fellow Princeton economist Anne Case, Deaton found that life expectancy in the United States had not just slowed, but actually declined in the last several years, driven by increasing mortality rates for white Americans without a college degree.
“We were pretty shocked when we found it, that’s for sure,” he told my class of Ph.D. students last week. “It’s not what we were looking for.” He said that most of the time when you find something so dramatic and unexpected, it turns out there’s a flaw with your calculations. But you have to run it down, he said, because if you turn out to be right, the implications might be huge.
“Knowing when to probe data, to some extent, it’s about having a prepared mind,” he said. “You know enough to know what you’re seeing, and know that it’s strange.”
Deaton and Case had uncovered something very strange and very troubling: deaths of despair. White Americans without a college degree have been dying in tragic numbers from drug overdoses, alcoholism, and suicide — enough to reverse a centuries-long trend of rising life expectancy. Those findings delivered a shock that echoed across disciplines — economics, public health, criminal justice, education — and profoundly influenced American politics.
Deaton was visiting our class — via Zoom, like all of us — because he and Case found that these deaths of despair were overwhelmingly concentrated among people without bachelor’s degrees. Across a range of important indicators, from employment prospects to social, mental, and physical health, the gap between those with a degree and those without has gotten wider. And the consequences of that chasm in American society have become so severe that they show up in the most basic indicator of all — life expectancy.
“Two-thirds of Americans do not have a four-year degree,” Deaton said. “And lots of things that make life worth living are getting worse for two-thirds of the population.”
He and Case detailed their findings and some of their recommendations in a book released earlier this year. Deaths of Despair and the Future of Capitalism looks at shifting labor markets, the skyrocketing cost of health care, changes in marriage and child-raising habits, and a host of other factors that contribute to our crisis in mortality. He covered much of that ground in class.
But one of the key lessons that I hope our students took away is that following your curiosity — running down those anomalies in the data — is one of the highest responsibilities of a professor or a researcher. Deaton has made his Nobel-winning career from exploring a series of hard questions that often yielded counterintuitive answers. He questioned many of the prevailing assumptions about market prices and consumer spending; reexamined the way people think about savings; and did pathbreaking work on flaws in economic development models around the world. And that was before he upended the political discussion in America with a shocking discovery about early deaths and a deepening social crisis.
This is one of the most important commitments that higher education makes to the broader society. In exchange for academic freedom and public support, we’ll put some of the world’s best minds to work on very hard, very complex problems. No one told Deaton, a world-class economist, to apply his expertise in the realm of social science and education policy. But that’s where the data led him, and he was obliged to follow.
It will be up to the rising generation of professors and college leaders to answer the profound challenge that Deaton and Case have raised: how does the 21st-century university serve all Americans, not just those who walk across the graduation stage?
“It’s something I’ve worried about for a long time,” Deaton said. “I think the great universities… are in real danger by being totally separated from the majority of Americans.”
That’s not what I want for this great university, and not what I expect from the people who work and study here. Building a society that serves all of us, a future where Deaton’s “deaths of despair” are outliers and not an entrenched pattern, is an urgent mission. I know our world-class faculty are up to it. If we remain strategic, bold, and student-focused, we’ll continue making a difference, one student at a time.
It’s a strange time to be teaching. I am hundreds of miles from my campus in Chapel Hill, and it couldn’t matter less. The phenomenal guest speakers we’ve welcomed to class this semester have beamed in from all over the country, and the seminars are still rich and fascinating. In fact, it may be the golden age of guest speakers, since nobody has to get on a plane or grimace their way through a cocktail reception to make a campus visit. Hard to imagine any previous semester when we could have welcomed Michael Eric Dyson on equity in the academy; Sue Dynarski on fairness in admissions; Holden Thorp on science and democracy; and Angus Deaton on economic fairness, among many others. Technology really is magic sometimes.
Yet for all the Zooming novelty of this moment, there’s no escaping the reality that Rome is burning. Without federal intervention that is fiscally responsible and politically doable, major pieces of this country’s higher education infrastructure are about to be incinerated.
Universities everywhere are getting dressed for the apocalypse, gaming out budget scenarios that would have been doomsaying just a year ago. Whole departments and majors are at risk; furloughs, layoffs, and salary reductions are just the opening bid. My home institution managed to keep enrollment stable in the fall, but most of the sector wasn’t so lucky. Clearinghouse data so far suggests first-year declines on the order of 16 percent nationwide—a devastating blow to colleges, and a long-term gut punch to the national economy.
And that’s before the all-but-assured government funding squeeze takes hold in the semesters to come. Absent federal intervention, the public institutions that provide the bulk of higher education in this country are set for a blow that’ll make 2009 look like a fire drill.
For the time being, we should focus on short-term actions that help stabilize the environment and buy time to consider a more fundamental change. This is about creating a temporary bridge to fiscal stability, available to non-profit institutions in both the public and private sectors, so they have the room to make genuinely hard decisions about how to restructure for a post-Covid world.
Higher education remains the crown jewel of American society and, notwithstanding unprecedented political attacks, the science it provides has been central to the world’s response to Covid-19. Panicked cuts right now would be a disastrous self-inflicted blow; we need enough stop-gap measures to sculpt something new rather than just hack away.
Here’s how we might do it:
A new federal loan program. Between a third and a half of American colleges and universities may not survive COVID-19, felled by a combination of pre-existing conditions and horrible luck. Only the feds can provide the life support to head off that kind of mass casualty event, and it should be included in the next COVID relief package. At a time when the Fed is backstopping junk bonds and Congress is providing aid to everyone from the airlines to corner bistros, it shouldn’t be hard or controversial to provide favorable loans to both public and private institutions. They could even tie the aid to long-sought reforms, reducing principal if the borrowing college increases the number of Pell-eligible students admitted during the life of the loan.
Waiving gift conditions. A common response, especially among faculty, to the fiscal crisis facing most schools is to tap endowments. The problem is that endowments are not structured as rainy-day funds — most gifts are made pursuant to detailed agreements that limit the use of funds to very specific purposes. Moreover, since only income from endowed funds is expendable (typically 5%), even a large endowment doesn’t yield an enormous pile of cash to meet an immediate financial crisis. Universities should explore a simple opt-in program where donors would waive gift conditions for two years so that endowment income can be used for survival. There’s no sense in topping up a scholarship fund for left-handed softball players from Catawba County if the whole college goes bust, so let that money flow to more urgent priorities for the next 24 months.
Cutting salaries and retirement benefits. A number of schools have already reduced the salaries of top-earning employees and implemented a short-term moratorium on retirement contributions. Duke University achieved savings of between $150 and $200 million with that approach, and Georgetown saved $47 million with a temporary halt to retirement contributions for senior employees. Beyond the financial benefits, this flavor of cost-cutting demonstrates a willingness on the part of the academic community to shoulder some real financial pain, making it easier to appeal to donors and policymakers for much needed financial assistance.
Eliminating non-essential activities. The easiest and worst impulse in a financial crisis is to cut across the board — to make the whole institution 5 or 10 percent worse at everything it does. The harder route is to make real decisions, to focus on the activities that are core to the mission while reducing or eliminating those that are not. Almost all universities fund extensive non-academic capabilities in areas such as compliance, risk management, communications, development, and athletics. Some of those areas—notably athletics— have already implemented major cost reductions by temporarily suspending some programs or reducing salaries and furloughing personnel. For many schools that subsidize athletics, now might be the time to think hard about the value of those subsidies.
Every school has academic centers and other ancillary initiatives that have existed for decades and are only marginally productive. This is the moment to make choices that would have been politically unpalatable in happier times but are wholly necessary now. Eliminating whole arenas of work will have adverse long-term consequences, but in a situation where there are no good choices, you have to protect the things that are vital to successfully opening the campus in the spring and next fall.
Most of us who work in academia are here because teaching, life-changing research, and the chance to build a better society are more important than accumulating wealth. Achieving those goals gets harder when the resources for long-range thinking and discovering get thinner. Our predicament is disheartening but for now, we must take the hit to get a few semesters of breathing room. Then the really hard work begins, as we begin to imagine what it means to be a great American college or university in the 21st century, what role higher education will play in the uncharted waters of a post-corona world.
Conventional wisdom is science and politics shouldn’t mix. Decisions about public health, vaccine research, or climate risks ought to be driven by scientists, free from interference by politicians.
That’s all true. But drawing a bright line between scientific conclusions and political decisions is far from easy. The particular genius of America’s approach to research and discovery is in the balance between the dual requirements of scientific independence and massive public support.
“Scientific progress on a broad front results from the free play of free intellects, working on subjects of their own choice, in the manner dictated by their curiosity for exploration of the unknown,” wrote Vannevar Bush, Director of the Office of Scientific Research and Development, in his seminal 1945 report to President Roosevelt called Science: The Endless Frontier. “Freedom of inquiry must be preserved under any plan for Government support of science.”
Bush’s solution for preserving that scientific freedom was to channel public support through research universities like Carolina. By directing government grants to university researchers, Bush believed, the United States could guard scientific independence while also furthering the government’s interest in the health, wealth, and general welfare of the country. The long-established traditions of academic freedom, tenure, and peer review in American universities would ensure that research dollars found their highest and best use, which is why UNC received over a billion dollars in outside research funding last year.
“The publicly and privately supported colleges, universities, and research institutes are the centers of basic research,” he wrote. “They are the wellsprings of knowledge and understanding. As long as they are vigorous and healthy and their scientists are free to pursue the truth wherever it may lead, there will be a flow of new scientific knowledge to those who can apply it to practical problems in Government, in industry, or elsewhere.”
We read and discussed that essay in my American Professoriate class last week, and nearly all of the doctoral students in that course agreed that a completely apolitical science simply isn’t reasonable. In a sprawling, raucous democracy of 330 million people, the pursuit of truth almost inevitably leads to political questions — and that’s ok.
“Bush’s argument was deeply political,” said Holden Thorp, one of my predecessors as UNC Chancellor and now the top editor at the journal Science. He joined our class session to offer some modern context for the Endless Frontier and pointed out that all of Bush’s arguments for curiosity-driven research focus on instrumental outcomes. “He’s not arguing knowledge for knowledge’s sake,” Thorp told the class. “It’s better medicine, better national defense, a stronger economy.”
Those are still the things we expect from science, the fruits of diligent investment in basic research that leads to unexpected discoveries and surprising new applications. Thorp pointed out that almost all of the advanced tools being deployed in the fight against the coronavirus — including here at UNC — are the product of curiosity-driven research launched years ago. It was impossible to know how exactly those earlier investments would pay off, but we’re seeing the fruits of that patient approach now.
“Most scientists really just want to understand nature,” Thorp told our class. “But it’s really hard to muster people to put their money into that if you don’t give them an instrumental outcome.”
So that’s the trade, the careful balance we need to strike between science and politics. Public officials must let researchers at Carolina and across the country go where their curiosity takes them, and scientists must embrace their responsibility to advance the endless frontier.
From pre-K classrooms all the way to Ph.D. seminars, the education world has never faced the kind of sustained crisis it’s enduring now. And our regular faculty meetings at the UNC School of Education offer a fascinating window into the way schools, students, and parents are responding.
This is my first year on the faculty at the School of Education, and one of the things I relish most about this place is the close connection between faculty members and the people working on the front lines of education across North Carolina and the wider world. We have professors who talk every day with teachers, principals, and district leaders doing their level best to keep students on track, even as they know it’s an almost impossible task right now.
And, of course, our faculty are dealing with their own disrupted courses, scattered students, and chronic uncertainty about what lies ahead for higher education. I promised at the beginning of the semester to stop making predictions, so I’ll just share with you some of the recurring conversations I’m hearing at these gatherings of very smart people dealing with very tough times.
The Spring Semester. It’s already clear that faculty are planning for online classes in the spring. For the most part, people aren’t addressing spring plans explicitly, but there’s strong interest in strategies for making the online classroom better both for the School of Education and for the K-12 students who many SOE students are teaching (many of our students are current teachers or administrators, coming back for Masters degrees or other professional development). There’s an unspoken assumption that, for the foreseeable future, some form of online is here to stay and it is the job of the professionals at the SOE to embrace the change and figure out how to make it work better.
Admissions. The national movement to eliminate, at least temporarily, the SAT and ACT for undergraduate admissions is driving a broader discussion about graduate admission requirements at the SOE. Already a strong grade point average can exempt candidates from taking the graduate record examination and a holistic admissions approach may be employed on a limited basis. The conversation is now evolving into a serious discussion about whether standardized tests predict ultimate success for professional educators and, if not, what should take their place? The holistic admissions approach offers an alternative looking at the entire body of a student’s work as a predictor of success upon graduation. The fact that dropping test scores in connection with admissions is now the subject of a legitimate and serious discussion has potentially far-reaching implications for all of higher education and even K-12.
Grading. As part of the switch to online classes last spring, many schools provided students with a pass-fail option. Some, including many of the disciplines at UNC, have carried the policy over to the fall. There are many rationales for the policy, but the most prominent concern is equity. Students who do not have optimum online access or an appropriate space at home to attend class and complete homework should be able to take courses pass-fail, alleviating some of the pressure they feel and hopefully avoiding a permanent pandemic scar on their academic record. The emerging conversation at the SOE is should there be a transition from grading to learning with an emphasis on outcomes? Like admissions, the fact that the grading structure is being discussed at the level of first principles is significant. This kind of deep reconsideration of the purpose and impact of grades has implications not only for American higher education but also for K-12 since the SOE faculty is training future teachers and researching educational policy for schools all along the educational continuum.
Equity. The racial reckoning taking place across America is a part of almost every conversation taking place at the SOE. It influences admissions and grading because of the concern that the current system puts people of color at an unfair and unintended disadvantage. But it has also catalyzed intense conversations about hiring, teaching methods, and public policy. More specifically, faculty are exploring whether a system designed to develop a community of students and faculty that produces great teachers and educational leaders is inherently biased against non-whites? The discussion has placed previously unthinkable ideas on the table. Ideas such as lottery admissions, gradeless classrooms, and tenure based on teaching excellence and research impact as opposed to publication in a small number of elite journals. There are also conversations about how to change the culture of the school to better reflect the realities of the world outside of academia. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I suspect the answer will emerge sooner rather than later.
Accreditation. The word “accreditation” came up several times during the faculty meeting and elsewhere on campus over the last two weeks. Online learning and the need to pivot mid-stream creates challenges for accreditation agencies with strict requirements for both course content and hours of classroom activity. The rigid rules that governed our work pre-pandemic simply don’t make sense in the new, disrupted world. There are similar questions about teacher certification requirements, school performance metrics, internships. and other regulations all of which are being questioned as we work our way to some kind of new normal.
I imagine similar conversations are playing out in schools across campus and around the country. Foundational issues have moved from abstract water-cooler talk straight to the Dean’s office. The answers will vary at different institutions, with new approaches as diverse as our post-secondary system itself. But it seems certain that big changes are coming and at a speed unheard of in the history of American higher education.
It’s been a tough few weeks here in Chapel Hill.
The decision to cancel on-campus classes barely a week into the semester sparked waves of criticism from all directions—faculty who predicted the effort as doomed from the beginning, lawmakers who wanted to see the campus work harder to maintain in-person instruction, and parents and students who alleged the whole reopening plan was driven by economics instead of epidemiology. Being a chancellor of a research university is an objectively impossible job even in normal times, and the intense criticism Chancellor Guskiewicz received goes with the territory. Leading in the time of COVID-19 is not for the faint of heart.
But for the hundreds of people who have been working since March to safely open the campus, the reality that the plan simply didn’t work has been a gut punch. With no clear timetable for a vaccine and the prospect of another surge in cases late this fall and winter, there is a lot of outright despair about the prospect of returning to any kind of “normal” on campus. Whatever your feelings about the reopening decision and the subsequent reversal, it can be disheartening to see a partially open campus when we remember the alternative so well. In all honesty, it’s hard not to be disappointed by the way the school year is unfolding.
Unacceptable levels of COVID-19 among the student body forced UNC to make a sudden shift to online learning for the fall. As a result, we rescheduled week three of my class for doctoral candidates, The American Professoriate, co-taught by Chancellor Kevin Guskiewicz and School of Education Professor Matt Springer. Our students needed time to shift to online learning, not just for the classes they’re taking but also for the classes they’re teaching as part of their graduate studies. Even with a pause for adjustment, we lost students. We learned that their stress levels are off the charts as they worry about job security for themselves and, in some cases, their spouses. Talk of drastic budget cuts has been in the air since this summer when state leaders demanded detailed contingency plans for huge cutbacks in the face of cratering state revenue. That weighs on everyone, especially these students who are thinking about the next steps in their academic careers.
Childcare is also an issue for our class. One student had to delay finishing her dissertation for a year to supervise online learning for her two young boys. And even those without family obligations are figuring out how to learn, teach, and research without access to many of the usual campus resources, from libraries to offices to labs. Dropping an optional class like ours was a rational response to an overloaded, highly stressed life. And it illustrates that high-value “extras”—a class of deep thinking on higher ed. issues, with lots of networking baked into the curriculum—suddenly feel like a burden during the pandemic crunch. Our students are scrambling just to cover the basics.
Fortunately, after spending a few hours preparing for our class with the renowned Georgetown sociologist Michael Eric Dyson, I began to see light at the end of the tunnel. It’s true that our grand plan for opening up the campus proved untenable, and that the Carolina community has been rocked back on its heels by the twin pressures of the pandemic and the economic crunch it’s creating. But it’s also true that we live and work in a community determined to pull every last usable insight out of these experiences and make them valuable to others. The chair of the faculty has been speaking out about lessons learned, and the need for a stronger national response; professors at other institutions used our experience to inform their own attempts at reopening. Lastly, scholars in disciplines from public health to economics to journalism are conducting real-time research on Carolina’s efforts to salvage the fall.
In the coming weeks, our own class will hear from Professor Dyson, from Nobel laureate Angus Deaton, from the brilliant economist Susan Dynarski, and our own former Chancellor Holden Thorp, now the editor of Science magazine and one of the country’s sharpest advocates for de-politicizing the pandemic response. Thanks to Zoom, I’ve never seen a richer, more timely collection of voices contributing to a graduate seminar, and I know our students will rise to the occasion with fantastic questions and insights of their own.
This is simply to say that for all the anxiety and understandable angst about what lies ahead, the University is still delivering on its core mission. We haven’t retreated from what we do best: teaching, public service, and the search for new knowledge that will immediately impact our current epidemic and far beyond.
For me, the disappointment of August has given way to a reimagined fall where students and faculty can construct a radically different but nevertheless meaningful semester. The process of recovering from adversity and creating a way forward makes me more confident than ever that the American university will continue to be a defining institution in this country, the restless and aspiring heart of the American experiment.
Daniel Markovits doesn’t think the meritocracy is broken; he thinks it works far too well.
“Training works, education works,” said the Yale professor and author of The Meritocracy Trap, during his guest appearance at my American Professoriate class last week. “That means elite children dominate meritocratic schooling, they dominate meritocratic university admissions…Meritocracy has now become a new kind of aristocracy based on schooling rather than breeding.”
It was a tough message to deliver at “the people’s university,” which is how I’ve always thought of Carolina. The whole point of a public institution like ours is to deliver a world-class education to students of all backgrounds, to insist that a first-generation student from a rural high school can master chemistry or creative writing as well as any lawyer’s kid with a prep-school education. I see that happen every day at UNC, and I’m immensely proud that 1 in 5 of our students is the first in their family to attend college.
But Markovits is right that it’s getting harder to maintain such an idealistic mission. Not because of anything that happens in university admissions offices, but because of the bigger forces at work in the outside world.
Rising income inequality means that some families have enormous sums to invest in their children’s education, creating gaps in opportunity that start from a child’s earliest years. A changing economy means the rewards to a high-quality education have grown larger, creating more pressure on students to land a spot at the ‘right’ college. And a wealth of political science research shows that some of the deepest divides in our public life break down along educational lines.
“This system puts enormous pressure on universities,” Markovits said. Higher education didn’t create the stratification in American society, but our credibility and our mission suffer when we’re seen as gatekeepers to the good life instead of institutions devoted to public service.
The students in our class had great questions for Markovits, some of them pushing back against the notion that higher education can somehow ‘fix’ the meritocracy. Shouldn’t public policy — taxes, school investment, zoning laws — play a bigger role? one student asked. Don’t we want strong rewards for academic achievement? asked another.
Where Markovits writes largely about university graduates who launch into “elite” careers like finance or consulting, the students in this class are mostly planning for careers in academia or public service. We have students who have devoted their young lives to studying global health disparities or improving the food supply chain to benefit small farmers. I don’t think anyone goes into a years-long PhD program, or signs up for a course like The American Professoriate, because they’re looking to strike it rich.
That ethos of service needs to be the norm for higher education. Markovits’ most compelling point is that a top-tier education is an enormous privilege, no matter what you did to earn it. That privilege carries an obligation to give back, an obligation even more obvious for the graduates of a public institution like UNC. The founders of this university, and the North Carolinians who have paid for it generation after generation, didn’t intend for its graduates to benefit only themselves. It was to benefit all.
“The position that you’re in now gives you more opportunity and makes you freer than 999 out of every thousand people who have ever lived,” Markovits told our class. “Do the work you care about in the way you want to do it.”
I would make one amendment. “Do the work you care about, and make sure it improves the lives and livelihoods of all those who are counting you.”
Kevin Guskiewicz is the Chancellor of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.
When I wrote earlier that the fall semester at Chapel Hill would be a test case for broader reopening in society, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.
UNC has been in the national news as one of the first schools to reopen — and now one of the first to pivot back to teaching exclusively online. These are not the headlines we’d been hoping to make, and certainly not the outcome we wanted for students or the wider community.
But to a significant extent, we chose to be the canary in the coal mine on the theory that a public university with the resources and research capacity of Carolina had an obligation to make the effort. There are real costs to remaining online-only, and not just financial. The support services and social experience of campus life matter a lot for equity and student success, even if the quality of online learning is strong. In any case, there is no point in failing if you’re not willing to share lessons learned, so here goes:
- Beginning with teaching and learning, we found that it’s possible to keep classrooms safe with masks and appropriate social distancing. As far as I know, contact tracing at Carolina turned up no instances of classroom spread. At the same time, a lot of us learned that a face-to-face classroom with required masking/distancing precautions is actually inferior to a fully online classroom. At least Zoom classes allow everyone to see facial expressions, hear all participants in the classroom, and avoid the unsettling experience of being one of 25 students in a classroom with 100 seats. “Hy-flex" class — “hybrid-flexible,” where some students are online and others are in the classroom — are the worst alternative by far. Unless you’re in a specially (and expensively) outfitted classroom with all the high-tech gear needed for that kind of hybrid discussion, having a passel of masked, spread-out students in person and a bunch of others online was a compromise not worth making. As long as we are living with the restrictions imposed by COVID-19, the online learning experience is probably better than a muddled face-to-face experience.
- A number of positive surprises emerged from teaching online over the first two weeks. Students and faculty seem more comfortable with Zoom than they were in the spring. Office hours are well attended. Class discussions and group work go at least as well over Zoom as in person and in some cases better. Online allows for large classes to break easily into smaller groups in ways that can’t be accommodated in a traditional lecture hall. Surprisingly, faculty seem to be more not less accessible in an online environment.
- We learned the hard way that university housing makes real social distancing impossible. UNC’s first COVID-19 cluster of five or more cases emerged less than a week after classes began, and it was followed by many more — mostly centered in shared housing. Unless a strict policy of sheltering in place is adopted for student housing and density is dramatically reduced, it is not feasible to even consider congregant living arrangements. A strict lockdown combined with massive testing might make a difference, but that hardly seems like a campus experience that will appeal to a significant number of students. Stringent policies that are tough to enforce on campus will prove even more challenging in off-campus housing.
- We also learned that most students — and, crucially, their parents — prefer a residential experience even if the actual classes are all online. Knowing that the majority of courses would be taught online, and that any individual student had the option of learning remotely, the vast majority of students returned to Chapel Hill for the fall semester. When classes switched back to entirely online and students were encouraged to leave the dorms, there was a huge rush to off-campus housing as an alternative to returning home. Now, even with undergrad classrooms shuttered, there’s an off-campus housing shortage around Chapel Hill. The ultimate impact of this ad-hoc, student-led decision to stay “at college” is yet to be determined. But in the near-term the burden of student safety is shifting from gown to town a scary prospect for the average citizen who is now living among thousands of young people who just moved from campus to the town of Chapel Hill.
- We quickly saw the disproportionate impact that fraternities and sororities have on spreading the virus. Aside from outbreaks in the fraternity and sorority houses themselves, it appears that many of the hot spots were triggered by what we politely term “Greek life.” Both the university and the town were concerned about frats and sororities from the beginning, and those concerns were totally warranted. We probably would have been forced to pivot online even without them, but one thing is certain: in the age of Covid-19, you can’t have an open campus and open frats. Until there is a vaccine, shutting down Greek life is a requirement for any shot at reopening.
Our understanding of what’s possible in the COVID era is already much improved since March and April — three cheers for outdoor gatherings! — and as we work through this crisis, our understanding of how higher ed can better meet its mission will undoubtedly improve as well.
UNC’s attempt to fully open was not triumphant, but it can still prove valuable. At the very least, we provided a vivid case study for those schools who plan to reopen in the next several weeks. Bottom line — If you plan to reopen—don’t.
Welcome back to the Our Higher Calling newsletter.
In May, I suggested that schools had a duty to reopen safely if that proved possible. With all of society struggling for the right path to reopening, universities have the resources and intellectual firepower to figure out best practices and share them with the world.
That path is looking rockier by the day. I am determined to practice what I preached about finding the best path forward. Starting August 11th, I’ll be teaching alongside Kevin Guskiewicz, the UNC Chancellor, and two other colleagues in a course that focuses on the biggest issues confronting higher education. We’ll get to see the day-to-day reality of teaching amid a pandemic and analyze in real-time how this unprecedented moment is changing all of higher education. And change is the operative term. With less than a week before class begins, I still haven’t decided whether I will participate on campus or remotely; even the course syllabus is in perpetual change. My colleagues and I will be reporting on how this all plays out throughout the semester in this newsletter.
The class is called “The American Professoriate” and will welcome, as of this writing, 23 doctoral candidates who plan to enter academia. There are three main modules in the class. We’ll first cover the intellectual foundations of American higher education, with an emphasis on the unprecedented change precipitated by COVID-19, the economic recession the virus has spawned, and the racial reckoning sweeping the country. The second theme focuses on the practical skills that junior faculty will need to successfully enter academia—everything from cover letters and campus visits to media engagement.
The third theme will focus on applying principals of innovation and design thinking to the wicked problems facing higher education. On the first day, the instructors will outline these situations including innovations to keep the campus safer during the pandemic, innovations that address inequality and access, and innovations in pedagogy. The class will be divided into four teams assigned to develop, prototype, test, and implement a solution to a real-world higher education challenge of their choice.
The faculty for the class, in addition to the Chancellor and myself, includes Matthew Springer, a professor in the UNC School of Education with a special interest in public policy; and Susan Greene, a professor of the practice in the Shuford Program on Entrepreneurship in the Department of Economics. The students come from the arts and sciences and from virtually every professional school—public health, education, medicine, and business. Guest speakers will include, among others, Daniel Markovitz, Michael Eric Dyson, and Nobel Laureate Sir Angus Deaton,.
The class is currently envisioned as "high-flex,” allowing students to participate both face-to-face and online, with asynchronous participation accommodated for those with particularly challenging circumstances. Two of the four student teams will meet online and two will meet face to face. The structure permits a seamless transition to all online if the circumstances of the pandemic should require it.
We plan to share with our readers the challenges of undertaking a high-level seminar involving extraordinary doctoral candidates. Undoubtedly there will be innovations on the fly. The class projects aimed at campus challenges in real-time will be an essential element of the newsletter as well. Pushing graduate students outside their comfort zone to focus on immediate and critical problems yields drama, disappointment, failure, and perhaps some unexpected successes. We’ll share the inevitable ups and downs throughout the semester.
Predictably, there have been surprises even before the semester begins. We have not made the progress on containing the virus we were hoping for back in May. Both graduate and undergraduate students have enrolled for the fall semester in larger numbers than expected but there has been greater resistance than we expected from faculty concerned about their own health, the health of their students, and the impact of reopening on the surrounding community. Adherence to community standards is very much an open question as students return to campus this week. In our own class we were surprised that of our 23 students, 8 opted for in-person participation with the remaining 15 opting for the online-only alternative. The reasons for taking the online option varied from health concerns, childcare, geographic distance (not returning to campus for the fall semester), and concern about community spread. On the bright side, the online option has increased our ability to involve colleagues from all over the country resulting in a group of outside speakers that far exceeded our expectations.
As we kick off the semester, I can make only one promise: no more confident predictions. My colleagues and our students will report what’s actually going on: what is working, what has failed, and hopefully some exciting ideas for how to improve higher education this semester and beyond.
This is my last blog until school starts in August. My friends and colleagues look to this newsletter for thoughtful comments and clear analysis. I have neither. My effort to write something definitive has been derailed numerous times over the last week by new information and a rapidly changing landscape. The reality of planning a 25-student interdisciplinary graduate seminar for the fall has added to the confusion. As a result, I have many questions but very few answers, and I know I am not alone. Two days ago, a colleague from the University of Virginia told me he would probably wait until the week before classes to decide whether to teach in-person, online or in some hybrid form. Campus leaders are in the same boat. Plans to open campuses with online and face-to-face classes were announced a month ago before the latest surge in new cases of the virus and before those plans were fully vetted. So, as of the last week of June, the only thing I know for sure is we are going to be living with a great deal of uncertainty for the foreseeable future.
The uncertainty is fueled by external and internal factors. To begin with, the results of our battle with the virus are discouraging at best with record numbers of cases being reported daily. Plans made a month ago for a late summer opening assumed we would be seeing a bend in the curve of new cases and hospitalizations by the time classes started. That is far from a certainty. The dramatic increase in infections among college-age students further complicates the situation. Limited attempts to bring football teams back to campus for conditioning have resulted in far more new cases than anticipated notwithstanding the small number of athletes involved and the relatively controlled nature of the experiment. This new reality dramatically influences any determination that it is safe to open the campus as planned.
Even if the experts continue to believe it is theoretically possible to open safely, a host of issues must be confronted as institutions move from bold aspirations to the hard job of implementation. Notwithstanding the opinion of experts, undergraduate students are willing and even eager to return. I suspect the desire to leave home, be with their friends, and graduate on time are the motivating factors. College-age students have demonstrated over the last several weeks they are not particularly concerned about contracting the virus. Although surveys indicate that students prefer face-to-face over online courses, it is less clear that in-person classes are what is driving their interest in returning to campus.
This enthusiasm to return to campus is not shared by many on the faculty. Petitions not to reopen abound nationwide and the sentiment seems to be picking up steam as trend lines of new cases and hospitalizations bend upward. At a recent campus-wide conversation on re-opening, many of my experienced faculty colleagues were skeptical that students would abide by the safety standards required for reassembling the campus community. Pictures of crowded bars and beaches give graphic credibility to their concerns. Many colleagues are worried not so much about their own safety but that of their immediate and extended family. Childcare and family responsibilities were also raised as impediments to on-campus teaching in the absence of the reopening of schools and daycares. Even the most dedicated and committed teachers are concerned about safety. If they teach some or all of their classes in person, I suspect they will spend a limited amount of time on campus during the fall semester.
Another unknown that has been added to the mix is the unprecedented racial reckoning sweeping the country. The fact that COVID-19 disproportionately impacts racial minorities will shape the dialogue on faculty and staff safety. The prospect of putting at risk those who are most vulnerable will no longer be acceptable, and this point will be articulated forcefully throughout the campus community. If reopening gets to be a close call, many schools will choose an additional semester of online classes over the inequitable treatment of people of color. This is written as the drama of forcing faculty and staff to work in what they perceive as an unsafe environment is beginning to play out. I suspect faculty will prevail because, at the end of the day, they are required if classes in any format are to be conducted and online classes are better than no classes at all. Staff is another matter. The appropriate treatment of the front-line workers necessary to open campus and keep it safe may be the most intractable problem facing a campus hoping to open in the fall.
I will end with an interesting idea from the University of Massachusetts. Why not let students come back to campus and resume campus life as safely as they can but with most, if not all, classes conducted online. Such an approach would address many of the student’s concerns about the need for an on-campus experience without placing the health of professors and their families at risk. It would also lessen the risks to university staff because the exposure to virus carriers would be drastically reduced. As the first day of classes approaches, more and more faculty will become reluctant to wade into a sea of newly returned students and will request or, if necessary, demand to teach online. As events unfold in the next week or two, it may be time to consider opening the campus to students but extending social distancing for faculty from six feet to at least several miles.
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