On Being Both a Researcher and a Dean:

Listening to Voices of Authority

Rena Upitis

Faculty of Education, Queen’s University

Kingston, Ontario, Canada

Paper presented at the International Conference,

Self-Study in Teacher Education: Empowering our Future,

Herstmonceux Castle, East Sussex, England August 5-8, 1996

 

On Being Both a Researcher and a Dean: Listening to Voices of Authority

In September 1995, I became Dean of Education at Queen’s University. As a result, my life has changed in profound ways. The most significant adjustments have involved blending various personal and professional roles: those of administrator, researcher, teacher, colleague, friend, and partner -- and crafting ways to nurture my passions for art, music, and the natural world.

 

Upon agreeing to taking on the position, I sought the advice of several colleagues in administrative positions. I was told that taking on administrative roles invariably led to the erosion of time and energy for research as more time-critical political and administrative pressures prevailed. Another lament was that time for friends and personal interests would diminish. Finally, the phrase "Your time is no longer under your control" was repeated again and again. These warnings and laments made me shudder. They also made me think carefully about how to, using Bateson’s (1989) metaphor, compose a life that would allow me to thrive as a dean, but not at the expense of the other pursuits I valued so highly.

 

Self-study in teacher education: Authority of position, reason, and experience

In searching for a framework of analysis, I was influenced by the discussion of authority by Munby and Russell (1995). They identify three forms of authority: (1) position, (2) reason, and (3) experience, arguing that students might not respond well to authority of position (I know because I have been there and so you should listen, p. 175) or to authority of reason (Research shows that children can easily sing the descending minor third [my example]) if they have not yet had the authority of experience against which to judge such claims.

 

I found parallels to these forms of authority in my opening remarks as dean, delivered in September, 1995. I strongly resisted the notion that what I said should carry more weight simply because I was in the office of the dean, but instead of calling this authority of position, I spoke of authority of office. Similarly, instead of the term authority of reason, I used the phrase authority of mind. And, I described at some length my prior experiences that I saw as relevant to the deanship (authority of experience). Most of these experiences had to do with teaching and pedagogy; my belief then was that good pedagogy would transfer seamlessly into good deaning. I wasn’t altogether wrong in my belief, but the authority of experience as a music teacher certainly didn’t provide for a seamless transfer to authority of experience as dean. As Russell (1995) noted, on his return to teaching a high-school physics class after spending years as a teacher educator, skills of planning, management, and evaluation do, thankfully, transfer from one level to another (p. 96). Other skills do not. While some lessons from teaching have helped me make good decisions as a dean, there is, as Munby and Russell (1995) claim, no substitute for experience.

 

Authority of heart: An ethic of caring

I also described a fourth form of authority in my opening remarks -- authority of heart (O’Reilley, 1993). I found many implicit references to such a form of authority in the literature on self-study in teacher education. Clandinin (1995) speaks of the importance of infus[ing] teacher education with an ethic of care (1995, p. 26). Russell (1995) talks about how he asked students in his high school physics class to respond to the question, "Was class on November 13 different?" because [he] was so impressed by the different feel of the class on that day (p. 95). Was this not a response to authority of heart?

 

In other works, authority of heart is addressed explicitly. Noddings (1992) describes circles of care, including self, the inner circle, distant others, animals, plants, and the earth, human-made world, and ideas. Although I have seen all of these circles come into play in administration, I examine here the two that have been most relevant to my experience thus far.

 

Caring for self is perhaps the most easily neglected. Noddings (1992) observes, considering how important our bodies are to us, it is surprising how little attention they get in schools (p. 74). This is equally true in academic life. Many of us eat on the run, exercise sporadically, and are chronically sleep-deprived. Even if physical needs are met, caring for other aspects of self (Noddings identifies spiritual, occupational and recreational aspects) are noticeably lacking in schools and the academy.

 

Caring in the inner circle includes nurturing relationships with intimate others and associates (Noddings, 1992, p. 91). Noddings also emphasises that this form of care provides important opportunities for intellectual engagement and the acquisition of cultural knowledge (p. 109).

 

Where is the authority in caring, the authority of heart? Knowing that someone cares makes it worth interacting with that person -- just as knowing that someone is able to construct good arguments (authority of mind or reason) makes that person worth interacting with for other reasons. By interacting, we learn, grow, and change. I do not, however, view authority of heart as a substitute for other forms of authority. I have relied on them all -- position, reason, experience, and heart -- in my first year as dean. I have also questioned them all, recognising that each form has limitations. These four forms of authorities are not distinct. Russell’s (1995) report of a class feeling different may be explained by his authority of experience with that class. But most of the authority of heart issues, for me, were not so easily explained by authority of experience, for I had no experience as dean.

 

Method of self-study

I took the warnings of my administrative colleagues to heart as I set out to structure my schedule, allowing more time for research than I might otherwise have done. I kept records of how I actually used my time over a six month period (October, 1995 - March, 1996), so that comparisons between planned and actual use of time could be made. Every eight weeks, I examined my schedule and practices and made changes accordingly. I also kept an informal log of impressions and events, through which a series of incidents that appear in a longer version of this paper were constructed (Upitis, 1996).

 

Practices and priorities

There was not one week in the entire period where I followed my schedule. Nevertheless, there were clear patterns in evidence. While I never missed a meeting with senior administrators or a class or a music lesson, I often failed to work on research during the scheduled times, particularly in the fall term. And, although I planned to leave the office every day by 6:30, there were many times when I worked long into the evening. I now turn to a discussion of making time for research.

 

Despite the large blocks of time that I scheduled for research, these blocks of time were usurped by the demands of administration. If it wasn’t an important budget meeting, it was a series of small requests that came in the morning mail. If, by some miracle, one hour of the two hour block on Thursday afternoons remained free for research, sometimes I simply didn’t have the energy to write; the research hour would be filled with tasks that I have now forgotten. Russell (1995) speaks of the importance of identifying living contradictions, and then changing practices accordingly. My greatest living contradiction was that, while I claimed that research mattered, this was not apparent given my use of time. However, in comparing the October and March data, it is also clear that I had learned to find more time for research. There is a higher level of congruence between planned and actual use of time in March; the iterative changes to scheduling were taking effect.

 

During the six month period under examination, I also learned to make better use of travel time for research. In the fall, time spent on planes was often filled with reading and personal correspondence. As my term in office has unfolded, I have learned to write while sitting curled up in the economy class of a crowded airplane -- something I now view as blissful time to think and create.

 

Interestingly, some of my research efforts were enhanced by the administrative role I had undertaken. For instance, I participated in a self-study group with other faculty members to lend support to the group and to find out about my colleagues’ research. This paper would not have been written but for my new role.

 

An extension of taking an interest in colleague’ research is that I co-authored four papers in the period under study, which was in sharp contrast to my earlier patterns. Although I had often sought colleagues’ advice in the final stages of writing, most of my work has been single-authored. Since the deanship began, I have written only two single-authored papers (this is one of them). A more collaborative framework has been productive. If I promise a colleague that I will have a draft of a section ready by a certain date, then I have the draft ready. If I make the same promise to myself, the work is less likely to be completed. I am also convinced that the co-authored research is richer than some of my earlier solo work; in turn, my solo work is enriched by having worked collaboratively on other pieces.

 

Finally, I was supported in my efforts by other senior administrators. Many of us make a point of talking about research during the few minutes before and after meetings, reminding ourselves of the importance of research to the university culture.

 

Reflections and rules

A few months after this self-study began, I realised that I was deliberately creating what Connelly and Clandinin term rules of practice (1988). I used

their framework to construct and analyse my emerging role as dean. I examine three such rules of practice below.

 

1. Do everything I did before I became the dean, but less often.

I embraced this rule because I felt that my prior practices were important for the authority of experience they engendered. I therefore continue to take an active role in the teacher education and graduate programs, and make time for music and watercolour painting, and for those in my inner circle. However, I have fewer piano students, my teaching load is lighter, I play and paint less often, and the time I spend with those in my inner circle is often tied to another activity. Almost a year after this rule of practice became one of my mantras, I have found a balance -- enough to satisfy, but not to overwhelm. In the end, it is not the authority of experience that maintains this practice, but the satisfaction of achieving a balance between various roles and pursuits -- the satisfaction of caring for self and others; and with that, authority of heart.

 

2. Be available. Answer the phone. Use voice-mail and electronic-mail. Keep the door open. Make the dean’s office an inviting place.

There were many reasons for adopting such an open-door policy. Many good ideas emerge from informal short conversations, and such conversations would be seriously curtailed if there was a screening process in place (a secretary answering calls or serving the role of receptionist). Also, I am attracted to settings where there is informal warmth. And so, the office itself is inviting -- bright colours, places to sit, books, papers spilling out of folders, photographs and puppets, plants, and artwork adorning the walls. This is a form of caring for self and others, but also, caring for the human-made objects that surround us.

 

3. Make time for friends by doing things together:

playing music, writing, walking in the woods.

This was a difficult rule of practice to embrace because part of me kept asking why everything had to be tied into something else. Wasn’t simple companionship enough? One morning, at the gym, I handed some teacher education program materials to one of the regulars as she pedalled away on her stationary bicycle. She smiled, and said, "Pretty efficient. Is this very good or very bad, do you think?" We decided not to think about that question too deeply. But, on balance, this rule of practice has been a good one. This kind of efficiency means that there are more contexts for knowing one another, more ways to care for self and the inner circle.

 

Implications

After a year of effort, I have crafted a system of rules and practices that allow me to spend enough time on research while caring for myself and my inner circle. Having become more aware of my patterns, it has been possible to adjust my practices so that my research self and other selves are not subsumed by administrative demands. I have been strongly supported in this work by my partner, friends, colleagues, non-academic staff, and fellow administrators. To what end?

"

Munby and Russell make the claim that this kind of self-study must somehow demonstrate functional validity (Munby & Russell, 1995, p. 173). They write:

In our view, if theoretical constructs are invoked for a purpose within a specific theatre of practice, then the optimal approach to establishing the validity of the constructs is to inspect the theatre of practice and see if the constructs have taken the practitioner where he or she wished to go. (p. 173)

I am left with this question: Have the rules of practice and priorities I have developed taken me in directions that are congruent with my goals? In most ways, the answer is yes. I can list many professional accomplishments that have taken place over the past year, in which I played a major or supporting role. Personally, I have found great fulfilment in this position.

 

I have made the claim that much of my learning and success has been due to the attention I have paid to authority of heart. Perhaps I relied on this particular form of authority because I was struggling as one of very few female administrators in our University, and in so doing I have cultivated a form of authority that often remains implicit. There is much to learn in my remaining years as dean, and the role that women play in the academy is one that begs further exploration. As I explore this issue and others, I listen, learn, and lead--with authority of position, reason, experience, and heart--as I compose a life that is guided by an ethic of care.

 

References

Bateson, M.C. (1989). Composing a life. New York: Plume.

Clandinin, D.J. (1995). Still learning to teach. In T. Russell & F. Korthagen (Eds.), Teachers who teach teachers (pp. 25-31). London: Falmer Press.

Connelly, M. & Clandinin, J. (1988). Teachers as curriculum planners: Narratives of experience. New York, NY: Teachers College Press, Columbia University.

Munby, H. & Russell, T. (1995). Towards rigour with relevance: How can teachers and teacher educators claim to know? In T. Russell & F. Korthagen (Eds.), Teachers who teach teachers (pp. 172-186). London: Falmer Press.

Noddings, N. (1992). The challenge to care in schools. NY: Teachers College Press.

O’Reilley, M.R. (1993). The peaceable classroom. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook-Heinemann.

Russell, T. (1995). Returning to the physics classroom to re-think how one learns to teach physics. In T. Russell & F. Korthagen (Eds.), Teachers who teach teachers (pp. 95-109). London: Falmer Press.

Upitis, R. (1996). On becoming a dean: Integrating multiple roles and authorities. Presented at the Canadian Society for the Study of Education, St. Catharines, Ontario.