For many faculty members, the semester begins with the now-familiar call to students to “introduce yourself with your name and pronoun.” Some of the more adventurous of us add a request for a personal fun fact, favorite flavor of ice cream or some other icebreaker. Our intention in asking about pronouns is to signal an inclusive, safe classroom where everyone is respected. In my experience, however, this practice is becoming more problematic than useful.
For a time, the pronoun question seemed like a step forward. When I first started teaching, professors were provided with a list that included the legal names of each student that had registered for class. We were expected to stumble through it on the first day of class in order to begin learning names, to ensure that everyone who needed to be on the list was, indeed, registered, and to identify students who had dropped the class. Invariably, that process was followed by a number of corrections: “just call me Amy” or “I go by Taylor.”
Eventually, registrars caught on, and class lists began to include nicknames or preferred names alongside the legal name of each student. At least at my institution, those names had secondary status and did not appear on Blackboard, email or other commonly used class resources. Now, thanks to work on behalf of transgender students by the National Center for Lesbian Rights, the Transgender Law Center and others, we know that student legal names need not even appear on class lists since those lists are neither official nor legal documents. Once our institutions modify their practices to reflect this, Amy and Taylor can relax. But what about pronouns?
Being a Two-Career Couple Requires a Long-Term Plan
Dual income couples are now the norm: over two thirds of couples in Canada and the UK, and 60% of couples in the U.S. They are beginning to realize they may each be the other’s most significant career asset. Not only can your working spouse mitigate risks like being made redundant, they can also serve as a trampoline to allow you a shot at your dream, whether it’s a novel or a non-profit, a start-up or a soap opera, and whether you grab it in your thirties or your sixties. But to make sure you’re both on the same page, be intentional about your lifelong plan. Will you embrace an “old school” model of a lead career and a follow career? Or will you take turns? Will you try to both charge ahead as ambitiously as possible? Or will you find careers that complement each other? Having these conversations regularly is the best way to make sure both partners get what they need at home and at work.
Why are women of colour still so underrepresented in academia?
Most students are likely to leave university never having encountered a professor of colour, especially a woman, writes Sadiah Qureshi
How to Create a Syllabus
There’s never a bad time to re-examine and rethink your syllabus. This guide will walk you through everything you need to know to craft an effective one.
Welcome to the lab
For most of one’s education, the first day of school is a gentle introduction. Whether it’s kindergarten, high school, or even college, you needn’t fear any activity more stressful than going around the room and telling everyone an adjective that begins with the same letter as your name.
The first day of my Ph.D. program was different. After my morning class, I reported to my “rotation lab.” (At my school, first-year students rotated through four different labs for 2 months each, a timespan so brief that it seemed designed to guarantee the student couldn’t accomplish anything.) Stepping into my new lab—which, at that time, had occupied its space in the building for 40 years—felt like invading someone else’s workplace. This was probably because I was invading someone else’s workplace. Yet it was now my workplace, and whatever traditions and legacies filled the lab—from the curling photos and yellowing printouts on the bulletin board to the dusty, rarely accessed chemical bottles on the top shelf—would now be mine to disrupt.
The first day of my Ph.D. program was different. After my morning class, I reported to my “rotation lab.” (At my school, first-year students rotated through four different labs for 2 months each, a timespan so brief that it seemed designed to guarantee the student couldn’t accomplish anything.) Stepping into my new lab—which, at that time, had occupied its space in the building for 40 years—felt like invading someone else’s workplace. This was probably because I was invading someone else’s workplace. Yet it was now my workplace, and whatever traditions and legacies filled the lab—from the curling photos and yellowing printouts on the bulletin board to the dusty, rarely accessed chemical bottles on the top shelf—would now be mine to disrupt.
- 1
- 2
- 3
- …
- 17
- Next Page »
