Faculty

Unraveling the Bylaws Web: A Fresh Perspective on Institutional Memory

Editor’s note: This guest post has been authored by Stephanie Bennett and Rebecca Shaw. Stephanie is the Liaison Librarian for the Sciences and Rebecca is the Music Librarian at Appalachian State University.

Starting a new job can often feel like jumping into an unfamiliar river. You know how to swim, but you’re uncertain about the strength of the current or the temperature of the water. One very quick way to become acquainted with the ins and outs of a new institution is to dive head first into reviewing, revising, and writing new policies.

The following post is co-authored by two librarians who are new to Appalachian State University. Both authors hold distinct positions and come from smaller academic libraries that have different procedures and statuses from Appalachian State. Stephanie is a Collections Development librarian, serving as a liaison to the Science disciplines. Rebecca is a Music librarian who primarily works at the Nicholas Erneston Music Library, just a short walk from the main library on campus.

In early 2023, the University Libraries at Appalachian State University issued a call for volunteers to join a committee tasked with evaluating the Library Faculty Guidelines and creating accompanying Bylaws. These Bylaws are meant to assist with faculty governance at the department level. This process was in response to Faculty Senate-led revisions to the University’s Faculty Handbook. All academic departments on campus were engaged in similar work.

To initiate the process, a call was made for faculty librarians to join the governance body responsible for drafting the Bylaws document. Initially, we felt that joining the group would be unproductive. We would be two brand new faculty on a committee of seasoned librarians, joining a group that had already been working together as the Departmental Personnel Committee. Furthermore, this process can be highly procedural, with institutional memory playing a crucial role. Without it, important meaning can be lost. As new faculty, we lacked, for example, the previous knowledge that there were documents already in existence that addressed procedures. We also did not have the knowledge of the reasoning why those documents had previously been formed in the first place. However, a request was made for newer faculty members to consider joining, as a fresh perspective on policy was desired.

And so, our journey into drafting the Bylaws of our Library Faculty Guidelines, a completely new document for University Libraries, began. We started by reviewing existing Bylaws from other academic libraries. Several institutions, including Virginia Commonwealth University, Western Carolina, and the University of Cincinnati made their Bylaws documents available online. Our committee also reached out through ALA Connect to gain insights into how others approached drafting Bylaws. We received some wonderful feedback!

Robert Labaree from the University of Southern California recommended including provisions for updating the document while keeping it as concise as possible. He also suggested reviewing and aligning with the Faculty Senate Bylaws document to maintain consistency with our institution. Laura Gariepy from Virginia Commonwealth University shared that their library was considering a process to move away from Robert’s Rules of Order. This in turn led to our own discussion about transitioning library faculty meetings away from Robert’s. Although there are certain instances where we are required to use Robert’s Rules of Order, we do not necessarily need to use them for our faculty meetings. Moving away from Robert’s Rules could provide some flexibility, and conceivably allow others to feel more at ease with voicing their thoughts, without being overly concerned with restrictive procedure.

The process of writing and revising Bylaws and foundational documents is a messy process that at times can be tedious. But it also offers an important opportunity to examine, question, and reframe how we want to function as a community of faculty librarians. Some of the topics discussed for inclusion in the Bylaws include: procedures for voting, special faculty status, faculty membership, and faculty governance committees such as the Appointment, Promotion, & Tenure Committee (aka APT). For example, when examining our process for voting, we discussed the process for making sure everyone’s voice is heard. We considered what might constitute an appropriate ballot. Would we only consider paper ballots each time? How would we handle absentee ballots, or would there ever be a time where we would rely only on electronic ballots? Moving forward, we will continue to have these conversations.

As one can imagine, navigating through multiple documents and ensuring consistency so that they all fit together seamlessly is a repetitive challenge, even for experienced librarians. For someone new, it can feel like treading water. As our committee updated the draft, we consulted with the rest of the library faculty for their input. This was done by sending out a draft for review where library faculty could add their comments. We also made space in our Faculty Meetings for open discussion of the Bylaws draft. Many suggestions lead to further revisions and discussions, and this process went on through several iterations. While this process can be tedious, it is a reminder for why having a provision in the documents for future revisions is so essential.

We also will need to carefully align the library’s Guidelines and Bylaws with the broader institution. Without knowledge of past situations or institutional memory, it’s difficult to contribute ideas without the fear of potentially wasting the committee’s time. Concerns about important omissions and the fear of raising trivial apprehensions, are experiences shared by both authors of this post. But, truthfully, these fears have been alleviated by recognizing that the library is relatively ahead in the process compared to other departments on campus. As we continue this journey, we will make further adjustments to our foundational documents, the Library Faculty Handbook, and our new Bylaws. We are still swimming with the current!

Faculty & Mental Health

“I’m sorry to be so disorganized this semester.”
“I am struggling.”
“Somehow Fall 2021 feels worse than Fall 2020 did.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you til now, I kept meaning to…”

These are things faculty have said to me in the last week. Morale on our campus feels low. As my coworker remarked to me this weekend, “Everyone was having a hard time quietly at home, and now that we’re all back on campus, it’s pretty noticeable.” No matter our roles on campus, we’ve experienced almost 2 years of slow-burn crisis. It shouldn’t surprise me that faculty in my liaison areas are having another tough semester.

I’ve done trainings on mental health first aid, learned what to watch out for, and how to refer students to mental health services on campus. The relationship between librarian and professor is different than between librarian and student, and that has muddied the waters of my training a little bit. What do we do when we can tell a colleague is struggling?

I recently attended a NAMI In Our Own Voice presentation, which included a mix of video clips and live speakers talking openly about their mental health experience, what helped them, and what habits sustain their recovery. Here are some of the takeaways:

Don’t suffer in silence
I’ve caught myself thinking, “Sure, I’m having a hard time, but so is everyone. I’m not special in my mental health needs right now.” But just because it’s happening to a lot of people, doesn’t take away that it’s happening to you, too.

Mental illnesses can hit our self-esteem pretty hard, isolating us from friends, thwarting our productivity, over-emphasizing the negative parts of ourselves. One of the speakers, who has ADHD, said “My low self-esteem felt earned,” because her mental illness made her late, forgetful, and sloppy. She didn’t feel like she was worth asking for help. As a result, she hid everything she was struggling with, and worked even harder to make up for it.

Stigma compounds the harm of mental illness. If it’s you that feels lonely or worthless, know that there’s no need to go through it alone. Reach out to a friend or if that feels too revealing, try a text hotline. You’re worth it.

Sometimes all you need to do is listen
If you notice your coworker’s jokes have gotten way darker than usual, or they seem discouraged, check in with them. I’ve found asking, “How’s your semester/week going?” is all the opening someone needs to let a little emotional steam out.

You don’t need to have the right words. You don’t need to fix it for them (which is good because you probably can’t!). Listening is a gift we can give each other right now.

It’s okay to be kinda cheesy
We know the things you shouldn’t say when someone is grieving or struggling, like “everything happens for a reason,” or “I know what you’re going through,” and that can leave us at a loss for what to say. It can feel awkward to come right out and talk about mental health. It’s easy to joke about it or just avoid the subject out of discomfort.

Sometimes all I’ve said is “That sounds so hard.” Other scripts that hold space for someone without giving advice or useless platitudes:

“It’s unfair, and it doesn’t make sense.”
“You don’t deserve to feel this way.”
“Thank you for sharing what you’re going through.”
“I care about you.”

Conclusion
We hear a lot about mental health awareness this time of year, with September being Suicide Prevention Month. Writing this feels a little like “Of course people know this stuff, it’s everywhere.” But someone might be looking for one kind word, one thought, one person who would miss them if they didn’t come to work. And if this post is that kind word for someone, then I’m glad I wrote it.

You matter to this world. It is good that you are here.

Lost in Exigency, Baby.

As a researcher of organizational communication, I have spent much of the past year observing and analyzing crisis communication by university and library leadership. Often I’m in the minority, praising communication and transparency I’ve observed from university responses to the pandemic, where others have been quick to find fault. Far from an apologist, my unpopular opinion just as often puts me at odds with leadership, especially when presenting views of those further removed from the hierarchy.

Kansas stirred up quite a bit of crisis communication last week as its Board of Regents (KBOR) unanimously passed a policy suspending University tenure protections aimed at addressing immediate budget challenges due to COVID-19. While no University is required to implement the new policy, KBOR gave Universities 45-days to respond with criteria and a process for invoking such a policy.

University administrators’ reaction to the policy was swift, either seeking broader input or acknowledging they would not implement. An open letter also quickly circulated, criticizing the policy as well as administrations who hadn’t joined in denouncing it outright. Without diminishing this alarmed response — the policy and its adoption are certainly worthy of it – my first and strongest impulse is always to ask questions.

One important question being asked is “why is a new policy needed?”

When KBOR’s Governance Board met to present and discuss this policy (around 19 minutes in), Regent Kiblinger asked this very question, in context and comparison to KBOR’s existing “financial exigency” policy. The response she got highlights several distinctions, while justifying it against other COVID-specific policy changes the Board has made. The first key distinction, though, really struck me.

“It treats everyone the same.”
KBOR General Counsel, Julene Miller

The new KBOR policy (6.b.ii) creates a COVID-specific exigency (if you will) applicable to any state university employee without the declaration of financial exigency as a prerequisite. Who is affected is the current focus of both the response from Universities and indeed the essence of how this policy “treats everyone the same”. It is admittedly more complicated , but deceptively that simple.

This sentiment — a takeaway from Kathleen Fitzpatrick’s very timely visit to my campus this week discussing Generous Thinking: A Radical Approach to Saving the University (John Hopkins University Press) – has bolstered an uncomfortable hunch I have about this current situation in Kansas. Fitzpatrick calls for a radical rethinking of how we participate in our collective values as communities of learning with a “duty of care”. While faculty loudly address the failure of leadership to make clear or understand the value of academic freedom and shared governance promised by tenure, we fail recognize and acknowledge how its structures like tenure and governance have also been built and broken down in ways that no longer live up to the values they intended to secure.

The key differences in the policy getting the most attention have to do with who has input throughout the processes and changes to the advance notice, process of appeal, and the affected employees. These explicit limitations on who is consulted, their representation and due process do raise justifiable concerns on a number of levels, one of which may be the further erosion of academic tenure in and beyond Kansas. But, remedying these concerns through a narrow lens of tenured faculty rights, just hits wrong. It misses the larger point, an opportunity even, that could be driving new and more equitable policy. Ironically, it misuses the privilege afforded by that which actually needs defending here.

What’s driving the policy?

The next set of distinctions the KBOR Governance Board outlined in its meeting mention the expedited timeline the new policy provides and an executive-centric role in the process. While financial exigency lacks as explicitly specific a process, it does ensure the executive role is shared with governance. We’ll come back to this.

But, first, the gist of the financial exigency. The Kansas Reflector summarized the policy even more succinctly [my emphasis inserted]:

Under existing Board of Regents’ policy, a state university must formally recognize a financial exigency that [has already] required elimination of non-tenured positions and operating expenditures. With the declaration, the universities could move ahead with reductions in tenured faculty positions.

By the open letter responding to this new policy asserting at the outset that, “procedures already exist to make decisions according to financial exigency as part of shared governance”, its authors acknowledge the similarly dire circumstances that concern both policies. KU’s rules and regulations for shared governance of financial exigency further emphasizes the gravity.

“Only as a last resort after all possible alternatives calculated to preserve the survival of the University as a quality institution of higher learning have been in good faith examined, and utilized or rejected, should the University consider the release of any tenured member of the faculty on the basis of Financial Exigency.
https://policy.ku.edu/governance/USRR#ArticleVII

If urgency of the circumstances are justifiably similar and this new COVID-19 specific policy is something clearly different than financial exigency, then how we talk about those differences matter.

The positive difference in the policy of financial exigency (shared governance) has already been noted. My question is why would we defend a policy that requires Universities to explicitly begin eliminating non-tenured lines before any tenured lines?

Because…tenure?

Like crises before it, COVID-19 has been both a global equalizer and a stark reminder of disparities resulting from all kinds of privilege. For KU employees COVID-19 has already forced temporary salary reductions across all employee types, additional hiring freezes, and top-down realignments that have resulted in administrative promotions and demotions, unpaid additional labor, and the voluntary and involuntary loss of good people and expertise.

Values and standards can certainly be upheld during unprecedented upheaval. The open letter reminds us “the statements of core values and standard practices [of academic freedom and tenure] were composed during moments of extraordinary societal upheaval and unrest—during the worst economic depression and the deadliest world war”. We must acknowledge they also occurred when “in some Northern cities, whites called for African Americans to be fired from any jobs as long as there were whites out of work.” Can we honestly say today, under circumstances similar or unique from crises of the past, that explicitly prioritizing the elimination of non-tenured faculty or staff actually “preserves the survival of the University as a quality institution of higher learning”, but eliminating any tenured faculty doesn’t?

What actually needs defending here?

What if Universities responded to the call for developing this framework with a generosity inherent in “it treats everyone the same”? What if a framework did include shared governance, adequate notice and appeal privileges, and did so (as the policy requires) for any state university employee?

Wouldn’t that be better than defending currently inequitable alternatives like financial exigency, or narrowly focusing on the academic freedom afforded only to tenured faculty? Wouldn’t it be better than an institution publicly declaring they are (for now) not planning to submit criteria or implement the new policy as is?

These questions prevent me from defending an alternative of financial exigency as it exists. In posing these questions, I also acknowledge that KBOR’s approval of this policy without shared governance and transparency is indeed unprecedented in a manner that “degrades the working conditions of the entire university and the learning conditions for all of our students”. At the same time, I can see the issues it is attempting to address gives unprecedented opportunity for more equitable approaches to “save the university”.

Having worked for the State of Kansas in the KBOR system for more than 20 years, I have experienced the political and budgetary challenges to employee salaries and benefits from the vantage point of different employee statuses – classified and unclassified staff, tenure track and non-tenure track, and tenured faculty administration in which I have supervised or mentored all of the former. This given me access to perspectives some of my colleagues may not as readily share.

Clearly this issue has shaken more than the foundational principles of tenure. It has us questioning ourselves, our professional relationships, and our leadership at all levels. Ultimately, though, this is a good thing. And while manifested poorly, both these polices, and at all times our privilege, should be open to further critique.

Shared governance is a privilege students, staff, and faculty can and should exercise on behalf of the most vulnerable. It calls us to use our collective voices not in self- or self-identifying preservation, but for giving unprecedented voice, participation, and due process for all employees. KU’s chancellor has publicly and internally sought input from governance, administrators, faculty, and staff across the university to determine this process, despite any requirement of the KBOR policy to do so – as he should! In addition to this invitation, it is our right and obligation to demonstrate how equity becomes and remains a prerequisite part of any policy.

Let’s get to it.

Grappling with My Faculty Identity

Please welcome our new First Year Academic Librarian Experience blogger Melissa DeWitt, Research and Instruction Librarian at the Regis University, Denver, Colorado.

When I began applying for academic library jobs late last year, I was introduced to the wild world of academic personnel classification. First, I figured out what tenure was and what that might mean for my own career. I then discovered that there are tenure track librarians on 9 or 12 month contracts, faculty librarians who are not tenure track, librarians who are not classified as faculty, and everything in between. It was complicated, and I didn’t quite understand what my status might mean in the greater context of the university or college I would work for. In fact, I’m still grappling with my identity on campus, what it means in relation to my colleagues, and how rank influences interactions.

In April, I became a faculty research and instruction librarian at a small university. We do not have tenure, but we are on a rank and promotion track, which means that I have service requirements to students and the university and requirements to contribute to the profession through presentations, publications, and research so that I can be promoted. There are a mix of tenure track and non tenure track positions at my university, and the designation depends heavily on the college. Complicating these designations are the histories behind them. There used to be a faculty union for some of the colleges, but that union dissolved. The library used to have tenure, and some librarians still have tenure, but new librarians do not. I learn new information every day about my university’s history, college structures and classifications, and I’m still confused. It’s like a jumbled bowl of faculty spaghetti. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure it out, and this is just one college campus.

I’m not usually one to care about titles, what I’m called, or what my status is; however, I’m discovering that other people really do care and that has implications for how they interact with me. What I’ve started to care about is how people perceive what I do. It seems that a large part of my job is fixing people’s perceptions of my job and advocating for it in the first place. Veronica Arellano Douglas recently posted an article that helped me reflect on some of my feelings. A lot of times, I think I’m seen as a resource or as something that can be used by others instead of as an educator and expert in my own field of study. There was a conversation on Twitter recently about this idea that librarians are seen as helpers rather than colleagues. This comes across in emails where colleagues ask me to present an impossible list of things in a 20 minute period or introduce me as a magician who can pull resources out of thin air instead of a colleague that studied and practiced and is an expert in her field. Or, there are comments of surprise that the librarians attenda so many events (it’s literally our job and we want to support our students and colleagues), though attending campus events can sometimes be a struggle when we’re left off the invite list.

Which brings me back to labels. What does it mean if I’m classified as faculty but am not always treated as one? What I think it means is that I have to do a bit more work to build relationships and collaborate with other faculty members. When a colleague remarked that it’s nice the library is invited to faculty events, we had a conversation about how librarians are invited because we’re also faculty. If I receive an instruction request that includes too many topics or doesn’t give me enough time to teach, I can push back and inform them how I approach instruction. I’m trying to find my boundaries and tell colleagues “this is what I do” instead of “is it okay if I do this?” because I don’t need permission to do my job. I’m having conversations about my role in educating students, pointing out opportunities for collaboration, and valuing my own skills and expertise. Many of my colleagues are really receptive and great to work with. I’ve had success teaching classes that go beyond the one-shot model because colleagues were open to the idea that we could have more than one class. I’ve also helped colleagues create research projects for students and brainstorm ideas to teach students information literacy topics. Those moments feel like a win.

I’d also like to point out that, as a new librarian, this is all very terrifying. For one, I feel like an imposter half the time, and I’m also a young female that’s mistaken for a student more often than not so talking to seasoned academics is intimidating. However, I’d like to believe, even if I weren’t classified as faculty, that I’d still be having these conversations and building these relationships with my colleagues. I have to remind myself that I know a lot of stuff and I can make a substantial contribution to my university, our students, and the library profession. For now, I’m going to keep learning all that I can about my university, continue building meaningful relationships with my colleagues, and perhaps one day, figure this academia thing out.

How are librarians classified on your campus? What do your relationships with faculty look like?

Agency, Not Use

The body is an agent, not a resource

-Donna Haraway

This quote appeared on a slide during Carrie Wade’s presentation at the Gender and Sexuality in Information Studies Colloquium last month. Her talk, Making the Librarian Body, was a part of a four woman panel, (Re)productive Labor and Information Work, which also included the excellent work of Gina Schlesselman-Tarango, Alanna Aiko Moore, and Chiméne Tucker.

I’ve not read Donna Haraway’s work, but A Cyborg Manifesto and Situated Knowledges are on my TBR list now (thanks, Carrie!). Her words resonated with me, as did all of Carrie’s presentation to be honest, as I thought about the language that we use to describe ourselves as library workers in academia. I’m working on a research project with Joanna Gadsby and Siân Evans on the pedagogical power dynamics between librarians and faculty, and there is so much common language among interview participants. Statements along the lines of…

I just wish faculty would use me in their classes.

I want students and faculty to see me as a resource.

Why won’t they take advantage of me and what I have to offer?

I’ve used words like these before. I’m sure we all have. Until recently I hadn’t stopped to think about the implications of these statements being used in a feminized profession, the gendered roots of those sentiments, and how they imply a problematic use of the body. I am not a resource; I am a person. I am a woman with agency, skill, experience, and talent. I do my work for myself and for my community. I am a teacher who facilitates learning. I do not go to work to be used. I go to work to educate, empower, and learn.

There’s a tendency towards eye-rolling whenever I get too far into the semantic weeds of our professional discourse, but I keep poking at our word choices because I think they matter. They reveal attitudes and reflect internalized values. They show us how we see ourselves and how we present ourselves to be seen by others. What would an empowered discourse of library work look and sound like? Could we replace the above statements with things like…

I am an educator.

I see myself as a facilitator of knowledge, learning and empowerment.

I do my job well for myself and my community.

I value my own expertise and the expertise of students, faculty, and staff.

Our bodies are our own and are a part of our being. We act in our bodies rather than provide them to others as a resource. As library workers we have an opportunity to challenge and change language that reduces our work to only being valuable if taken advantage of by others. Our work is integral, vital, and important. It works in tandem with and reproduces the academy in which we exist. We are agents, not resources.