Jennifer Morton (University of Pennsylvania) is the author of the latest contribution to #first-gen philosophers, a collection of reflections by philosophers who were among the first in their family to go to college.

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Jennifer Morton. Photo by Brooke Sietinsons.

Professor Morton’s essay is an insightful look at various exclusionary aspects of the philosophy profession.

Here’s one part, in which she makes use of some ideas from her colleague at Penn, Sukaina Hirji:

Sukaina Hirji has recently written a thoughtful paper about how people from oppressed social groups are often caught in oppressive double binds—no matter what they do they become complicit in the oppressive mechanisms that function to oppress them. She argues that what is bad about such situations is not simply that they undermine our autonomy, but rather that they present us with choices that are self-undermining no matter what we do.

To truly diversify the academy would require that we welcome people that have backgrounds, experiences, and perspectives that are truly different than the philosophical mainstream. And yet those who fit this description must convince those who are in positions of power to recognize their contributions in order to be given the positions and support required to advance their intellectual agenda. This pushes us to contort ourselves to fit into a social world in which we do not feel at home. To pursue research agendas that are more connected to the concerns of those outside of the academy, we need to embrace and pursue those projects that relate to aspects of our experiences that make us different. And yet those are the sorts of projects that will not be seen as valuable or understood as properly philosophical within our profession. This pushes us to pursue other projects that will make it easier for us to succeed professionally.

To resist the ways in which colleges and universities privilege those who already arrive on campus with the skills and knowledge critical to thriving in the academy, we need to invest time and energy in learning to truly teach all students. And yet the institutional incentives are set up so that doing so comes at the expense of our own position in the academy.

As Hirji argues, whether we give in or resist, we are compromising our own success in the long run. I write this as a professor with tenure at a well-regarded research institution. In what ways have I compromised? It is too early in my career to provide a definitive autopsy but let me provide a preliminary one.

First, I benefit from and my success reinforces a system whose continued existence makes it harder for people from marginalized backgrounds to succeed. I am a person of color and a first-generation college student, yet I have been credentialed at elite institutions and been mentored by people whose word is trusted by the gatekeepers. This has been critical to my success in the academy. This is not to diminish the work I’ve done, but to acknowledge that I am a part of a system that is exclusionary and elitist. I know that my mere presence within these institutions makes those around me feel better about the fairness of the flawed system that brought them there. I made instrumentally rational choices in the pursuit of my professional goals, but nonetheless my success in doing so buttresses the prestige economy that pervades much of higher education.

Second, I have chosen to take up opportunities for career advancement at the expense of being in a position where my teaching had a direct impact on first-generation, low-income, and minority students. When I was at the City College of New York, my teaching mattered. I became a more empathetic, open, and motivated teacher and I could see that in doing so I was making a concrete difference in the lives of my students. And yet, I no longer teach there. I chose to pursue opportunities that had more research support and prestige. In part my choice was a response to institutional constraints at CUNY that made it increasingly hard to be a good teacher—larger classes, crumbling infrastructure, and less support for students. It was also an intentional move to ensure my work was taken seriously. But though I think my choice was reasonable, it too was a compromise.

The third and final example is the most painful. I have continued to increase the distance between myself and those I love for the sake of my career ambitions. Not only did I decide to pursue higher education thousands of miles away from home, but I became more and more like the people I could not understand growing up—the ones that prioritize work over much of their lives… My family doesn’t quite understand my drive and I don’t know how to explain it. We love each other, but I am now part of a world whose logic is mysterious to them. This makes it hard for us to be a part of each other’s lives in the intimate way that we used to be.

You can read the whole piece here.

UPDATE: The piece from which the above is excerpted is itself an abridged version of a piece which was previously published in the APA Newsletter on Feminism and Philosophy, edited by Arianna Falbo and Heather Stewart. Please find the full version of Morton’s paper here.