The Adjunct Track

Not Exploited

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By Paul Rohrer

You've surely heard my story before: Four years after earning my Ph.D. in political science, I've finally landed the elusive tenure-track job. During that time I spent a year as an adjunct at my graduate institution, followed by a year as a postdoc at a prestigious university, then two years as a visiting professor at two other colleges.

I never got paid a lot, so for six out of the seven years since my first daughter was born, my family has qualified for the Women, Infants, and Children food program.

Some months we had to skip paying the rent to buy food. My postdoc institution was within an hour's drive of four beautiful state parks, but we couldn't even afford to go camping. We had to borrow money from my mother, which we haven't yet been able to repay.

I moved my family for career reasons two years in a row. To avoid moving a third time, I commuted last year 450 miles each direction, going home only on the weekends. Every year I had to find a summer job so my kids wouldn't go hungry.

Even with a solid publication record, I landed few interviews. The university I was at last year kept hinting at the possibility of a tenure-track job, but it never materialized. Twice I didn't find a job for the next year until after my previous job had ended, and the stress of wondering how I was going to provide for my family had me on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Even now, having landed a tenure-track job at a liberal-arts college in the Midwest, my salary is one of the lowest faculty salaries in the state.

Traditionally, that would be the cue for me to start complaining about exploitation, and the immorality of a system that abuses and exploits the newly minted Ph.D. Sorry to disappoint, but it turns out you haven't really heard my story before, at least not as I tell it.

I hate it when people say I was exploited. If language really does have power, then calling me exploited turns me into a powerless cog in a brutal machine. I'd rather be called a fool. At least that leaves open the possibility that I am in control of my own life, however irrational my choices seem.

The whole idea that academe exploits Ph.D.'s is based on the belief that we aren't being paid what we're worth. But who determines what we're worth? The tough reality is that it's the market, and in the market academics are a dime a dozen. So that's about what we get paid.

Some of us seem to believe we have some kind of intrinsic value that others must recognize and reward. Besides the fact that the idea of intrinsic value is two centuries out of date, the belief that somebody owes us something makes us hypocrites every time we criticize our students.

I have to admit that I've said it, too, "That kid thinks he deserves an A just for showing up." Hmm, we show up at graduate school, then we show up on the job market, and we think somebody owes us at least a B+ salary. (Anybody who thinks he or she deserves a starting salary of $50,000 is asking for more than my dad was making when he retired after 40 years of work.)

What's really ironic is that those professors who insist that not all value can be reflected in dollar terms are (I suspect) the same ones who are dismayed that academe is not giving them enough dollars to reflect their "true" worth.

I'm just thankful that we don't actually have to bid for jobs, the way construction companies have to bid for contracts. Imagine if colleges offered jobs to the low bidder -- the person who was willing to accept the smallest salary. What should scare us is that such a system would probably have almost no effect on the quality of education. I'm sure there's someone out there who is just as good a teacher or researcher as I, but who is even more desperate than I am.

My own very informal and exceptionally unscientific survey suggests that those who have worked for a living before entering academe are less likely to complain about being exploited because they realize how fortunate they are. My students are amazed at the number of jobs I've had. I've been a bike messenger, a cab driver, and a shoe salesman, among other things. I worked in a hardware store during graduate school.

So I know the alternatives firsthand. One of my favorite professors had worked in a dynamite factory, and he told us about the old men who had emphysema from decades of breathing in the dust and fumes. He felt unbelievably lucky to have escaped from the hardscrabble life of his parents and peers.

If you've grown up with any kind of sense of entitlement, or if this is the first time you've ever had to struggle -- the first time that things haven't come easy -- then I can imagine that the weak academic job market seems a bit unfair.

But I voluntarily chose to enter this field, as did we all. And I voluntarily chose to stay.

I have looked for jobs outside academe, in both the public and private sector, in both for-profit businesses and nonprofit organizations. Yet each time another temporary academic job came through, I took the risk and gave it another shot.

Those who insist on believing in exploitation ignore their own culpability. So through the power of language, they re-create themselves as weak, helpless, even (dare I say?) infantile.

So please don't give me any sympathy for being exploited, and don't expect any from me. I'm not helpless, I'm not a pawn, and I'm not under anybody else's control. It could be that I'm a fool for going into a business that is both competitive and low-paying, but at least I'm a happy fool.

So let me tell you why I'm so happy. First, my long struggle resulted in job security. It's not hard to get tenure at my college, and the reality is that almost everyone who is offered a tenure-track job eventually gets tenure somewhere (unless they voluntarily quit), even if it's not where they started out. Yes, it was hard getting here, and at times I almost gave up, but so what? People in all walks of life have to struggle.

Second, I've always had great flexibility in scheduling my time. I usually teach only three days a week, leaving large amounts of time to devote to research, reading, long walks in the country, etc. When my daughters have a doctor's appointment, I don't have to miss work to take them. If I want to leave the office early I do, and there's no reduction in my paycheck.

Third, now that I have a permanent position, I have summers off if I want. Out of choice, I probably will "work" next summer. I'll be teaching an online class from a cabin in northern Minnesota while I spend my days fishing and chasing my kids through the woods.

And those past years when I desperately needed a summer job? I taught "AP Government" to some of the most outstanding high-school kids in the country -- it was like being paid to go to summer camp, and I only had to work for four weeks. The rest of the summer was mine to spend with my children, my garden, and my research.

Fourth, I've had the privilege of having each of my three daughters with me at work, something most people can't do. Before reaching school age, each has spent many of their days in my office. Granted they interfere and hinder my productivity, but what a small price to have that time with them.

Finally, I get to do what I most enjoy. We should never forgot the motto of the old-time ballplayers: "I love this game so much I'd play it for free."