Feminist Philosophers

News feminist philosophers can use

Code of Conduct Discussion July 15, 2014

Filed under: academia,improving the climate — philodaria @ 3:49 pm

In an article on Inside Higher Ed.

“As teachers, mentors and colleagues, we, professional philosophers, take our tasks of teaching, research, and service to the profession very seriously,” Eleonore Stump, professor of philosophy at Saint Louis University, and Helen De Cruz, a postdoctoral fellow in philosophy at the University of Oxford, wrote in their petition. “We want to create a supportive environment where fellow faculty members and students feel safe and where their concerns are heard and addressed.”

Amy Ferrer, executive director of the association, responded to the petitioners in a statement they posted on their web page. In her response, Ferrer said that members of the association’s Board of Officers, “like so many others in the profession, are deeply troubled by incidents of harassment and other misconduct that have recently come to light. We want members to know that we take professional ethics very seriously.”

. . . The eight-member task force, made up of professors from institutions across the U.S. and Canada, is expected to provide a progress report to the philosophical association’s board in November. Discussions – which will mainly be internal – are just beginning, but the task force announcement already has prompted a range of reactions.

Inside Higher Ed


A Reply to “The Gender Academy” July 14, 2014

In a July 5th article, “The Gender Academy,” University of Colorado Boulder philosophy grad student Spencer Case complains about his department’s new “Best Practices” document, which recommends, among other things, that classroom discussion facilitators make an effort to assist students from underrepresented groups in participating in discussion “by, for example, intervening when such students are interrupted or spoken over while attempting to contribute.”

“This is micro-managing and worse,” he objects, “Instead of being an objective facilitator of learning for all, the teacher must now be an advocate for some.”

Kudos to University of Colorado Boulder philosophy grad student Sofia Huerter, who wrote a reply to Case, drawing on Jenny Saul’s work on implicit bias and stereotype threat:

“I have, for some months, permitted myself to remain silent with regard to the climate in my department because I have become so preoccupied with my own fears of confirming stereotypes about women in philosophy, namely that we aren’t very good at it for one reason or another. I have felt fearful that any slip-ups on my end will result in accusations of fallacious and misguided reasoning, engendering yet more negativity in the debate about the status of women in philosophy…

Stereotype threat is a psychological phenomenon which affects the way that members of stigmatized groups perform. Victims of stereotype threat tend to under-perform on relevant tasks, such as writing papers, because they are unconsciously preoccupied with fears of confirming stereotypes about their groups…

As women enter graduate programs in philosophy, they are likely to be reminded of their under-representation in various ways. For instance, as Jennifer Saul notes, in most classes, other than perhaps feminist philosophy, they are likely to encounter syllabuses consisting overwhelmingly of male authors, and the people teaching most of their classes are likely to be male. Further, those who are teaching are susceptible to implicit bias. As such, we are likely to witness in philosophy departments the same well-documented asymmetries in the treatment of male and female students that have been observed in other areas of academics. For instance, we are likely to see teachers calling upon male students more often than female students…”

(See here for the full reply.)

UPDATE: Case has published a reply to some of his critics, in which he argues that feminism is not a sub-discipline of philosophy and ought to “be discussed alongside conservatism, libertarianism, liberalism, fascism, and socialism in political-philosophy classes.” Presumably his arguments are directed at feminist philosophy, and not feminism — which is not (and as far as I know has not ever been) characterized as a “sub-discipline of philosophy.” Even under this charitable reading, however, Case’s argument is little more than a classic example of a straw-person fallacy; the argument shows merely that feminist philosophy should not be “insulated” from “criticism” — which, of course, is not a conclusion that anyone would contest. What the “Best Practices” document recommends is that philosophers refrain from disparaging sub-disciplines of philosophy, not from providing a rational critique.


On “smartness”, “genius”, etc. July 9, 2014

Filed under: bias,improving the climate,science — Jender @ 10:58 am

Philosophers are very prone to discussions of “who’s smart”, and also of “who’s stupid”. I vividly remember discussions in the lounge when I was a grad student of who was stupid (discussions amongst both staff and students) and my terror of making it onto the stupid list. In recent years, lots of good worries have been raised about such discussions.

Recent research supporting the hypothesis below:

In some disciplines success may be seen as depending on sustained effort and dedication, whereas in others it may be seen as requiring a “gift” or brilliance that cannot be taught. Because women are stereotyped as being less likely than men to possess innate intellectual talent, they may find the academic fields that emphasize brilliance as the key to success to be unwelcoming.

Eric Schwitzgebel on seeming smart:

I have been collecting anecdotal data on seeming smart. One thing I’ve noticed is what sort of person tends spontaneously to be described, in my presence, as “seeming smart”. A very striking pattern emerges: In every case I have noted the smart-seeming person has been a young white male. Now my sample size is small and philosophy is about 75% white male anyway, so I want to be cautious in this inference. Women and minorities must sometimes “seem smart”. And older people maybe have already proven or failed to prove their brilliance so that remarks about their apparent intelligence aren’t as natural. (Maybe also it is less our place to evaluate them.) But still I would guess that there is something real behind that pattern, to wit:

Seeming smart is probably to a large extent about activating people’s associations with intelligence. This is probably especially true when one is overhearing a comment about a complex subject that isn’t exactly in one’s expertise, so that the quality of the comment is hard to evaluate.

And now Carolyn Dicey Jennings on the negative side of things– criticising people as not intelligent, rather than simply criticising their arguments.

Eric Schliesser, in a related vein, on boy wonders:

I define a ‘boy-wonder’ as follows: a male — aged 20-28 — who is quick on his feet, precocious, often with gifts in formal areas of philosophic, and annointed as ‘the next big thing’ by Some Important Philosopher(s) (SIPS) at a top department.* Words like ‘genius’ and ‘brilliant’ are often used in this context. (Often SIPS and their boy-wonders are dismissive of other people’s contributions.) Philosophy is by no means the only discipline that has ‘anointed’ boy-wonders (economics does, too), but we like them a lot. By this I mean that boy-wonders do not only show up in the inflationary context of letters of recommendation, but they also impact the sexist mores in philosophy.

I offer seven considerations to rid ourselves from the whole set of practices that involve boy-wonders.
First, it’s very hard to judge future philosophical performance. While it may be true that some future fantastic philosophers are recognized at an early age (fill in your favorite example), there are also lots of false positives.

Second, once somebody is annointed as a boy-wonder in some privileged circle, they often benefit from this for a long time in their career. Their work is systematically over-rated (fill in your favorite example), over-cited, and it happily carries them into exalted status (where they can annoint, etc.) They benefit from a positive feedback loop with material and psychological support that will help some of the boy wonders produce enough to retroactively justify the anointing within the (magic) circle of sympathy (see this analysis by Eric Schwitzgebel).

Third, undoubtedly, some boy-wonders crack under pressure, and suffer from not being able to live up to to expectation. I suspect that all anointed boy-wonders are harmed in some such way, but they may not care when they really make it in the profession.

Fourth, boy-wonders can get away with a lot. And, sadly, that means a lot of sexist stuff, too. Boy-wonders get a lot of second-chances. (I am *not* claiming that boy-wonders are more likely to be harassers.)

Fifth, the proxies that are often used to ‘track’ boy-wonder potential are, frankly, themselves sexist; they tend to rely on tacit bias, heuristics, and social norms many of which are known to favor men.

Sixth, because the intellectual gifts and virtues that tend to be associated with boy-wonder-hood tend to be associated with only a limited sub-set of philosophical areas/interests, they also skew everybody’s sense of what matters in philosophy.

Seventh, the phenomenon reinforces some of the worst features of the system of commodification of philosophy (and other disciplines)–the sociology around boy-wonders, facilitates Deans and Chairs to ‘sell’ their latest hire as a potential ‘superstar.’

I suspect that questioning the intelligence of any philosopher in a public forum could trigger stereotype threat for marginalized groups and such questioning adds nothing of value to public discourse.

I think we should all try to just stop talking this way. It’s not easy, and we’ll surely slip up. But we should try.


The Ethics of Trigger Warnings in the Classroom May 26, 2014

Trigger warnings (definition in the link) are a mainstay on many blogs and internet forums. People are also now starting to use them in books and on classroom syllabi. In response to this, there’s been a huge surge in articles discussing the ethics of using them. Most of these pieces worry that they do more harm than good.

Here’s a sampling of articles, op eds, and blog posts:

Salon. New York Times. NYT Op Ed.  New Republic. Los Angeles Times. The Atlantic. NY Mag. Huff Po. Mother Jones. Jezebel.
If you google “trigger warnings” and under “search tools” set the time frame to within one week (as of today, May 26th), you’ll find dozens more of them.

I take it that most of us can easily imagine the main arguments for using trigger warnings in the classroom: you are giving people a heads about about the material they are about to encounter, so that they can make better informed decisions about how and whether to engage the material, and you are signaling that you understand the severity of the material and consider it a valid decision if students to do not wish to engage the material at this time.

There are a lot of arguments in these articles against using trigger warnings in such a way. Many of them are bad arguments–they conflate serious trauma with any level of momentary discomfort, they seem to not understand how PTSD and anxiety disorders work at the most basic level, they trade on stereotypes of feminists wanting to keep people in a state of perpetual victimhood (thanks to Kate Manne for pointing this one out), and they don’t acknowledge the sheer levels of paternalism involved in their suggestions.

There are, however, some very thoughtful arguments and considerations that raise concerns about how we use trigger warnings and how we follow through with them. I quote some below, along with points in favor of using trigger warnings in the classroom. Comments are open and moderated.

“As someone who studies PTSD from several different perspectives and works with people who actually have PTSD, I think what is interesting about this conversation is that it seems like a basic understanding of trauma and PTSD is almost entirely missing. People who truly have PTSD are ‘triggered’ all the time. By many things. Most of which are not directly related to their trauma. Noises, smells, tastes, phrases, tactile experiences, thoughts, etc. etc. One of the most – if not the most – disruptive part of having PTSD is isolation. Feeling like what you’ve experienced is something that no one else can understand. Feeling like you are not like everyone else and never will be again. If we slap trigger warnings on books that mention war, I worry that we are further isolating the people who need just the opposite. I worry – particularly when it comes to combat related PTSD which the NYT article addresses – that we are sending a message that says, “You’re right. What you’ve been through is so terrible, what you’ve done is so inhuman that we cannot even talk about it.” I worry that though this is intended to come from a protective place that it sends the opposite message. The message that the rest of us don’t want to hear it, don’t want to have to worry about your emotions spilling over. People who have been traumatized – in my opinion – don’t need to be protected from being re-triggered. What they need is empathy. Instead of trigger warnings on syllabi, maybe we should have some classes (and trainings for profs) that attempt to understand trauma and PTSD so that we can all be better witnesses instead of just continuing to shut it all away.”
–Mary Catherine McDonald, philosopher


“I’ve used [...trigger warnings] for graphic/sensitive material in my ethics classes (e.g., FGM, sexual assault) for a number of different reasons. Most obviously, there are students who really do need to opt out of discussions which may leave them feeling vulnerable and reeling because of past trauma. Nobody has opted to opt out yet, but I have been thanked for the warning, because it helped a student mentally prepare for what they were aware (and were aware that I was aware) could be an emotionally wrenching discussion. Also, as that brings out, being given a choice can be valuable in its expressive or symbolic value, even if it isn’t exercised or something which it would be good for that particular student to exercise in this instance. Namely, it says to them that opting out would be respected by me and that I am not assuming that they are all clearly going to be fine with talking through anything and everything which might be important to talk about in an ethics class in particular. And that they are not being excluded from philosophy in general if they are not prepared to participate in a more or less unpredictable discussion of (e.g.) bodily mutilation or sexual assault. Finally, and equally importantly, it signals to everyone else – i.e., the students who have no need whatsoever to opt out of the discussion – that this is a morally serious subject which we are going to approach in a morally serious way, remembering that what we are talking about real lives, real bodies, and real social practices.”
–Kate Manne, philosopher


“…It’s almost utterly unpredictable what will trigger people. It’s often not the topics themselves, but the smallest thing that unless someone *knows* is a trigger for me (for example), there’s no way they could have given adequate warning. And given my intersectional identity, things that are triggers for other people with sufficiently similar identities may not be triggers for me. This is related to the dilution worry: we’d have to essentially say: “This course may contain triggers.” If we tried to list them all, we’d fail (because we can’t predict how something we think is benign and unrelated is really someone’s #1 trigger) and the list would be massive.”
–Rachel McKinnon, philosopher


“…part of what we as educators, parents and students have to recognize is that classroom spaces in which difficult topics like trauma, rape, war, race and sexuality are discussed are already unsafe. When students of color who have endured racism have to hear racially insensitive comments from other students who are in the process of learning, the classroom is unsafe. The classroom is unsafe for trans students who are often referred to by the wrong gender pronoun by both students and teachers. The classroom is unsafe for rape survivors who encounter students in the process of learning why getting drunk at a party does not mean a woman deserves to be raped.”
–Brittney Cooper, writer, Salon (linked above)


“I kind of know where these critics are coming from, because I used to be one of them. I publicly joked that sappy songs required trigger warnings, and I privately complained that they were as infantilizing as spoiler alerts. But now that trigger warnings have gone mainstream, I find I’ve come full circle. Why should trigger warnings bother me? Like many of trigger warnings’ loudest opponents, I have noticed, I have no firsthand experience with rape or racial discrimination or cissexism. And a few words at the beginning of an article (or on a seminar syllabus) are no skin off my un-traumatized nose. In fact, what now strikes me most about trigger warnings is how small a request they are, in proportion to the backlash they incite. What is it about about this entirely free gesture of empathy that makes people so outraged? In their distress, critics have entirely overlooked an important distinction: Oberlin students aren’t trying to get out of reading Mrs. Dalloway because they’re special, sensitive snowflakes, or even get it removed from syllabi. They just want a three-word note on the syllabus giving them a heads-up that it addresses suicide. If that’s all it takes for instructors to prevent the shock it could cause a student who has been suicidal, it is, to me, a no-brainer.”
–Kat Stoeffel, writer, NY Mag (linked above)


“Kids in college are thought of as these young, naïve, uncorrupted youngsters who need knowledge dropped on them hard, but it gives me pause to acknowledge how many of them have been sexually assaulted or seen trauma already. Regardless of what you think we should do about that, it’s heartbreaking to think that some students begin an experience meant to challenge them already deeply challenged and fragile enough that they aren’t able to experience the positive cognitive dissonance being offered through an education.”
–Tracy Moore, writer, Jezebel (linked above)





The Extreme Badness of Silence March 25, 2014

Note: One of the survivors quoted in what follows requested that I remove the “trigger warning” that was originally at the beginning of this article, arguing that it contradicts the message that we shouldn’t be afraid of sharing trauma narratives. Her point that there is a certain tension is a perceptive one. We’re not ashamed, and part of the purpose of this piece is to encourage transparency — but we also feel, given the intensity of the responses to sexual misconduct in philosophy over the past couple of months,  that readers should know that what follows could be triggering. 


This is a difficult post to write – and probably an even more difficult one to read.

I’m writing it because I have had a number of conversations in the past month that have led me to believe that there are more than a few philosophers who have no clue just how damaging even mild forms of sexual misconduct can be – or, for that matter, how the extreme badness of silence and silencing techniques can compound the problem, for both the survivor and for others in the community.

And, after talking to some 15-20 survivors of faculty-student sexual misconduct – mostly in philosophy – I am beginning to think that the problematic nature of faculty-student relationships is not “merely” that the power asymmetry (or perception of a power asymmetry) precludes bona fide consent. Although consent is important, the issues go far beyond consent.

The role of a faculty mentor or adviser, particularly at the graduate school level, is not just that of an authority figure. Dissertation students are often described as the progeny of their Doktorvater or Doktormutter, and there are academic genealogies in philosophy and mathematics and many other fields which track the relationships between academic “parents” and their “children.”

In other words, it is reasonable to think that, regardless of whether or not the full doctrine of in loco parentis applies, faculty have fiduciary duties to their students.

Obviously the experience of every student is different – and I don’t want to presume that all students perceive faculty as academic parents (indeed, I’d encourage students not to harbor this perception) – but I want to give a rough sense of how the perception of a fiduciary relationship, and the corresponding silence of the “family,” can make the impact of sexual misconduct more severe.

I’ll start with my own first-hand account. As a grad student at MIT oh-so-many-years-ago, I thought of my adviser as a sort of academic father figure, a mentor who viewed me as his academic offspring and cared about my intellectual growth and development in much the same way a father would. And so when he suddenly started touching me and behaving in a non-fatherly manner, it was both unthinkable and profoundly disturbing. I felt betrayed, disillusioned, afraid, isolated, damaged, guilty, defiled, and, above all else, angry at the “family” who protected him by turning a silent back to me, confirming my belief that to report the problem would be to commit academic suicide. “Being accepted into a graduate program is like being born into a family,” a senior member of the department told me when I asked for his support in transferring to another program, “you don’t just transfer out.”

I am not alone in this response. Many of the emotions that I muddled my way through in my decade-long hiatus from philosophy have been echoed in the reports of all the courageous women I’ve talked to this year. Here are just a few of the responses they have described:


“I was walking across campus yesterday, and I saw someone who looked like him from the back, and, even though I knew it *couldn’t* be him – he’s not at this university – I couldn’t overcome my anxiety, and turned around and walked in the opposite direction.”

“I don’t go to APA meetings, because I’m afraid that I might run into him and have to deal with the mind games that he plays. I don’t want to be manipulated and mind-f*ed again.”

“I’m afraid of going to graduate school because I’m afraid of taking classes with men. I’m afraid that they’ll become someone else. I’m afraid of being alone in a classroom with a professor. I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to overcome these fears.”

“It took me three years to be able to go back to the closet where he cornered me, and when I did, I felt nauseous.”


“He told me not to say anything to anyone else, because they’d be ‘jealous’ of the ‘special privilege’ of being his girlfriend. He told me I was lucky. I didn’t feel lucky – I just felt alone, and confused, like an alien who didn’t belong. I couldn’t talk then, and I can’t talk now because I’m afraid of retaliation.”

“I signed a non-disclosure agreement with the university which means I’m not supposed to say anything to anyone. It was stupid, I know, but I thought signing it would put the whole thing behind me. It didn’t. I still wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. And now I can’t talk to anyone about it.

“I want to talk about it, but I can’t. I feel like there’s something wrong with me, and I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want everyone to read one of my papers and think, ‘oh, this is the woman who was f*ed by that guy.’”

“I tried to tell my adviser, and he told me that it would be best not to report, because there are too many powerful philosophers who are known harassers. Obviously he’s right; there’s [that philosopher] at [that top university] and [another philosopher] at [another top university] and [another philosopher] at [another top university]. They’ve all done things to women who won’t report, because they’re too scared to report too. I understand this – but why can’t I at least talk about what happened? I feel like I’m dirty, and everyone looks away when I try to mention it.”


“He was a mentor, like a father – he is old enough to be my father – and then he got drunk and tried to kiss me. I went to the bathroom and vomited. I felt betrayal, then loss – I had lost an adviser and a mentor and couldn’t ever trust him again – and later immense sadness and grief.”

“I always thought of professors as the pinnacle of integrity and respectability. Mine were the opposite of this. I’m not sure whether to be angry at them, or angry at the culture that misled me.”

“The fact that he is a creepy — a blatant misogynist who touches every woman he can get his hands on — makes me angry. But the thing that really makes me see red is the fact that no one else in the department cares enough to say something. They’re too busy covering their own sorry asses to speak up. I went back for a colloquium and it was like Thanksgiving with a dysfunctional family.  Everybody knows that Uncle Harry is a pervert, but, hey, cheers to him, he’s a good philosopher and we’ve known each other for fucking decades and that’s the only thing that counts.”


“He exploited the fact that I was vulnerable. He would help, and then coerce me into doing something I didn’t want to do, calling it ‘love’ and reminding me of how much he cared for me and had helped me. But I never felt like I had control. I couldn’t say ‘no’ because he would have responded with rage and revenge. He would have ruined my career.”

“I began to hate myself for not telling anyone, for projecting a sunny image when everything was not okay. I would have loved to tell him how much I hated it when he touched me, hated his laugh, hated his disgusting ratty beard, but I was too scared about what he would do to my reputation if I tried to report.”

“I told my adviser what happened. He told me it would be best to keep it a secret, to just forget it and not tell anyone until I am 60 years old and writing a retrospective on my career. But I feel like I’m living a lie. How can I ignore and stay silent on something that changed my very conception of self?”


“I figured it must have been my fault. I must have done something – or failed to do something, I don’t know. I just didn’t see it coming. I felt like everyone must have been guessing what had happened, even though I refused his advances, and that they must just be assuming I’m another one of his conquests. I can’t even look other philosophers in the eye.”


“I still feel cut off and detached from sexuality sometimes, like I don’t want to be touched—or at least don’t want to be touched unless it is absolutely under my control. For a long time it was the opposite, and the only pleasure I could feel was if I didn’t have any control, if I just lay absolutely still with my arms at my sides.”

“I feel on the outside of philosophy, like I don’t fit in or belong. I guess that’s my fault, because I’m just too angry, still. I have trust issues – sometimes I trust people I shouldn’t, and sometimes I don’t trust people I should. But mostly I just feel different.”

“I should have submitted pieces of my dissertation to journals years ago, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. I might submit some of my pieces related to feminist philosophy and activism, but I don’t want to share the work I really care about with other philosophers because it’s none of their business and I don’t owe philosophy anything.”

“I’m not sure who I am any more. Before he assaulted me, my world was predictable, sane, regular. Now I just feel shattered, fragmented, completely at the mercy of things I can’t control. I have no idea what tomorrow is going to bring.”

Confusion and hatred:

“I told him I never wanted to see him again, and he agreed not to contact me. Everything was okay for a year. But then I started having flashbacks and anxiety and got really angry that he was completely ignoring me, as if he didn’t care. I emailed him and then hated myself for being so insecure as soon as I sent the message.”

“He was so angry when I refused to take his classes after it happened. I was afraid, and I think I even felt, you know, guilty. So I tried to placate him by telling him what he wanted to hear, which was that I had feelings for him, which I didn’t. I hate myself for doing that.”

“I know this is irrational, but somehow I can’t shake the feeling that if I’m not sexually attractive, I’m not a good philosopher. And, you’re going to think this is weird, but I flirt with other philosophers, and at the same time I hate them and still don’t trust men in general. I sort of feel like they won’t ever be interested in my philosophy, just my body, so if I can keep them interested but also keep them at bay, I might be able to get them to listen to my philosophy. I know that’s wrong, but I can’t make myself believe otherwise.”

 “It was consensual, but I didn’t have any choice – he has too much power in the discipline – and at points I have hated him so much for taking advantage of the power asymmetry that I have plotted revenge against him.”


“I feel so alone. I tried to commit suicide last fall. I can send you photos, but they’re sort of gross. The scar on one wrist is in the shape of a IX.”

“I can’t read the blogs or Facebook any more. Most days I just cry.”

“I have a really hard time concentrating on anything right now. I can’t believe a friend wrote that on her Facebook page – I thought she understood.”

“My world is closing in.”

One of the most alarming things about these responses is that they come from women who were, almost without exception, mentally well-adjusted prior to the incident(s), and have no history of sexual abuse or sexual assault.

So, how do we support survivors who are experiencing one or more of these feelings?

One thing I’ve learned is that it’s important to give a survivor permission to talk, to think and feel at the same time, to explore the meanings and connections between thoughts and feelings, to regain a sense of control.

While professional support is important, it is also equally important that the proverbial “family” – other faculty and grad students – not shun or silence the survivor by discouraging sharing. Yes, it is important to support the survivor by acknowledging his or her philosophical thoughts and contributions, to help achieve a sense of normalcy by discussing philosophy instead of the issue – but it is also equally important to repeatedly indicate that you care and are available. There is nothing wrong with being a survivor, and survivors need to know that. Many survivors also need to be able to share their trauma narratives with members of the philosophy “family” – which in turn means we need to overcome either an inability to empathize, or, worse yet, a fear of empathizing with that which forces us to acknowledge how very precarious our own fate is. As Susan Brison points out:

“As a society, we live with the unbearable by pressuring those who have been traumatized to forget and by rejecting the testimonies of those who are forced by fate to remember. As individuals and as cultures, we impose arbitrary term limits on memory and on recovery from trauma: a century, say, for slavery, fifty years, perhaps, for the Holocaust, a decade or two for Vietnam, several months for mass rape or serial murder… In The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, Milan Kundera writes that ‘The struggle against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.’ Whether the power is a fascist state or an internalized trauma, surviving the present requires the courage to confront the past, reexamine it, retell it, and thereby remaster its traumatic aspects… to the extent that bearing witness reestablishes the survivor’s identity, the empathetic other is essential to the continuation of a self.” (Aftermath, 57-9)

Another equally important thing we all need to do is to stop ostriching, to pull our heads out of the proverbial mud, and act. I’m no psychologist, but it’s pretty clear to me that the survivors I’ve spoken to are suffering. It’s also pretty clear to me that many of them blame university administrators for failing to impose appropriate sanctions, and the colleagues of their perpetrators for failure to recognize and respond to the problem. And, if I’m correct in thinking that the effect of a faculty member violating his or her fiduciary duties by making sexual advances is tantamount to that of, say, a parent making sexual advances on an adult child, then to maintain silence about a “known problem” is to be complicit in a behavior whose effects are similar (though of course not identical) to those of sexual abuse. The survivors need our collective support and counseling – as do the perpetrators.

Yet another thing I’ve learned in the past year is that higher education is a very large “family,” and that, although there are some dysfunctional members, there are also many of us who understand the extreme badness of silence – who are committed to ending the cycle of sexual abuse, to getting treatment for those members of the family who commit incomprehensible acts and preventing them from having contact with students and other vulnerable members of the community, in order to prevent further damage.

Please, if you are aware of a problem, don’t ignore it.


We need to make room for breaking the silence March 10, 2014

These last few weeks have been difficult for us as a community—and rightly so—but despite all that’s come to light, still, so much remains hidden. Here, at Feminist Philosophers, we have been talking a bit about the pain of silence recently. I think if we are to come out of this stronger as a community, if we’re going to be able to move forward at all, we need to make room for people to not be silent. Sometimes it seems as though we are caught in a web of interlocking prisoners’ dilemmas: Conversations about harassment, discrimination, and assault are difficult and they are often politically risky. In the short run, if we have the luxury, it can seem easier to simply avoid them. But collectively we have the power to make them less risky.  We can create a culture in which victims are supported well enough to come forward and active bystanders are cultivated. We can do this by offering our solidarity with those who are marginalized, vulnerable, and would otherwise be ignored; by treating our colleagues with respect even when we disagree with them; by acting with compassion and understanding; by speaking and acting ourselves where possible.

To that end, I must acknowledge what happened here last week,  and say that I am thankful for the courageous and peaceful activism of the Northwestern students, for the intervention of Rachel McKinnon (and others) in a comment thread here, and to all of those who are working to make our discipline more inclusive and welcoming.

UPDATE: I also want to acknowledge that our comments policy was violated in a number of ways–and that I am not thankful for. Our ‘Be Nice’ rule is not here simply for the sake of our friends; rather, it’s here so that everyone can participate in healthy and fruitful discussion.  It’s important to note these violations even in cases where I’m very glad that something was said. I have also removed the links above.


Petition for a Professional Code of Conduct March 7, 2014

Filed under: academia,improving the climate — jennysaul @ 8:06 pm

There’s a petition up calling for the APA to write a professional code of conduct for philosophers. This will hopefully lend support to all the excellent recent efforts from the APA.

A Petition to the APA through its Board of Officers

As teachers, mentors and colleagues, we, professional philosophers, take our tasks of teaching, research, and service to the profession very seriously. We want to create a supportive environment where fellow faculty members and students feel safe and where their concerns are heard and addressed.

In light of recent events at more than one university, we the undersigned hereby petition the Board of Officers of the American Philosophical Association to produce, by one means or another, a code of conduct and a statement of professional ethics for the academic discipline of philosophy. We particularly urge past presidents of each division of the APA to sign this petition.

To sign, go here.


A few thoughts on avoiding avoidance February 26, 2014

Filed under: improving the climate,sexual harassment — Heidi Howkins Lockwood @ 2:42 am

“Ostriches. All of them.”

This was the explanation offered by an irritated colleague at another university last week, after complaining bitterly about collective departmental avoidance in response to the offenses of a male philosopher whose office is across the hall from his.

I have had more than one ostrich-like urge to bury my head in the past few weeks. And I think I’ve even succumbed to a few such urges. (Who wouldn’t rather go out for a run, or read that tempting new book on quantum gravity, instead of thinking about the problem of sexual misconduct in philosophy?)

So I get it. I understand why the philosopher’s colleagues are practicing the art of avoidance.

But I’ve also been irked by ostrich-y behavior, and have mentored others who have been deeply wounded by silence—so I understand and share the philosopher’s irritation, and am renewing my efforts to avoid avoidance.

For those who are looking for tips on how to de-ostrichify a department, the recent post on Philosophical Spaces is a good place to start. I invite anyone who has additional thoughts on how to cope with a departmental culture of avoidance to comment here.

What I want to focus on in this post, though, is not how to de-ostrichify, but rather a question that I have found myself returning to as the problem of sexual misconduct in philosophy starts to become more public:

What is it like to be the person in that office across the hall, whose behavior has prompted the rest of the department to run to the nearest sandbank? What is it like to be a philosopher quietly wondering if your own past or present offenses will be revealed?

It must, I think, be a lonely place to be.

A remark on Facebook a couple of days ago claiming that philosophers are suddenly refraining from comments and likes on Peter Ludlow’s posts prompted me to go out to his page, out of curiosity, to see if it was true. It does seem to be the case. But then I reflected on the fact that the same is true of my own Facebook page. Like Ludlow, I’m a political hot potato. In the wake of choosing to post openly under my real name about sexual misconduct problems in philosophy, friends in philosophy are suddenly refraining from likes and supportive comments in public arenas. Privately, though, they’re eager to connect; I have received almost two hundred private emails and messages of support. As, no doubt, has Ludlow.

So perhaps “lonely” isn’t quite the right word.

I’m not drawing a parallel between Ludlow’s recent online experiences and my own because there’s any connection between Ludlow and myself. There’s not, of course. What I’m trying to do is to use the example to show that we philosophers are oddly social and political animals, despite all the accusations of ineptitude. And right now many if not most philosophers are behaving like ostriches because it seems like the socially acceptable and politically prudent thing to do. That doesn’t make it the right thing to do.

About four months ago I had a long and difficult conversation with a philosopher who was accused of egregious sexual misconduct, and perceives himself as an offender. He has not come forward about what happened—to his colleagues, or even to many members of his immediate family—and the news about public instances of misconduct in philosophy has affected him, as an offender, just as profoundly as it has affected me, as a survivor and mentor to victims and survivors.

I have also had conversations with two other philosophers in the past month who have admitted to both engaging in sexual misconduct—and to feeling ashamed about it.

I obviously don’t know what it’s like to be in their shoes. But I can report what they’ve told me. In no particular order, here’s what I heard:

  • They want to reconcile. The three philosophers I spoke with (all male) are apologetic, but have no idea how to express the apology. Two of the three are consumed with guilt, and with trying to understand things from a victim’s point of view. One has read every single entry on the “What Is It Like to Be a Woman in Philosophy?” site… more than once.
  • They’re afraid. Some of their fears are the obvious ones: fear of disgrace or public humiliation, fear of hurting family members, fear of losing a position or an opportunity, fear of being ostracized. Some of the fears are non-obvious: fear of being misunderstood, fear of their philosophical work being read differently or being analyzed for signs of psychoses they don’t feel they have, fear of the emotional response that public disclosure might release within them.
  • They feel isolated. Talking about your recent or past sexual misconduct isn’t exactly the kind of thing you can casually chat about in the department seminar room.
  • They’re introspective. One of the three I spoke with talked about a lifelong fear of being perceived as un-masculine, which he attributes to being bullied by male peers when he was younger. Another talked about about the challenges of a strict Catholic upbringing. The third described a dysfunctional relationship with an abusive father.

In all three cases, it was extremely clear that the offenders are suffering, too. And while the mere fact that they’re suffering doesn’t excuse egregious behavior, it does seem good reason to overcome our social insecurities and talk to the offender about the problem. Yes, we need to be thinking about victims—but one way to help victims is to deal with the problem and find ways to promote dialogue and, where appropriate, reconciliation.

In other words: avoid the ostrich behavior.


Aiming for the Good in Bad Company February 19, 2014

Dear Professor Manners,

It’s become clear to me through fb posts and live discussions with colleagues that many people are worried about what the etiquette is if you are due to appear at a conference with someone accused of/ found guilty of gross sexual misconduct.  Or if you simply find out that you are at a conference with such a person.




So you want to help February 17, 2014

Filed under: improving the climate,sexual assault,sexual harassment — Heidi Howkins Lockwood @ 5:47 pm

The messages that have been flowing in over the past few days, in the wake of Brian Leiter’s unexpected link to the Yale Daily News article about my involvement in a protest at President Salovey’s inauguration last fall, are not what I expected.

Sure, there are some of the expected: the “me too” from survivors who have been re-traumatized by the recent news of yet more problems in the discipline; the “are there any safe programs?” from advisers of graduate students; and the “am I walking into a nest of badness?” from junior colleagues with likely job offers who don’t want to be complicit in permitting a bad climate. (I can’t answer either of these last two questions, by the way.)

But the single most common message – and one I didn’t expect – has been this: “Philosopher X routinely engages in sexual misconduct. I want to stop it but I don’t know what to do about it.”

I’m beginning to feel like a cut ‘n paste machine responding to these messages, so I thought I’d pause and put together a quick post with suggestions directed at those who are teaching or studying at universities in the U.S.

First, before I get to the suggestions for action: dear reader, if you know a philosopher who was the victim of sexual misconduct and have not yet reached out to him or her with a simple message to say “hi, I’m thinking about you in the wake of the craziness,” stop reading this right now. Send a message. There are a lot of survivors out there who are feeling more alone and isolated than ever, and wondering whether anyone cares about the individuals who have been hurt, as opposed to esoteric debates about abstract issues and policies. Silence can do significant harm.

So, what can be done about a known case of sexual misconduct?

The immediate, first-step answer to this is of course going to depend on both the nature of the problem and the nature of your knowledge of the problem. The best resource I know of for general information about reporting a problem is the guide to reporting on Know Your IX.

Some of the colleagues I’ve spoken with this week, however, have already tried the reporting route, with no result. For those of you who have specific knowledge of a problem, either at your own university or another university, and who have reported without any resolution to the problem, here’s some good news: we are currently at a unique juncture in the history of responding to campus sexual misconduct in the U.S. You can make a difference. Here’s why and how:

March 7, 2014: Campus SaVE Act goes into effect

The Campus Sexual Violence Elimination Act (SaVE), included in Sec. 304 in the Senate version of the re-authorization of the Violence Against Women Act, is the most significant reform of policy on how college sexual assaults are handled since the Jeanne Clery Act of 1990 and the Campus Sexual Assault Victim’s Bill of Rights of 1992.

The SaVE Act takes effect on March 7, 2014, and requires, among other things, that: (1) universities include reports of dating violence, sexual assault, and stalking in their annual crime statistics (the first SaVE-Act-compliant reports are due in October 2014); (2) universities provide prevention and awareness programs, including bystander training, for all new students, faculty, and employees; (3) universities offer students or employees who are victims of misconduct a change in housing or work environment, including the option of a restraining order; and (4) universities permit both the accused and accuser to have an advocate of their choice – including, if desired, legal counsel – at institutional hearings.

Many universities are going beyond the Campus SaVE Act minimum requirement that all faculty be provided with prevention, awareness, and bystander training, and providing all faculty members with “mandated reporter” training.

If you work or study at a university in the U.S. and have not yet heard anything about the Campus SaVE Act, it’s time to contact your university administrators to request training and find out what the plans are to bring your university into compliance.

January 22, 2014: White House’s Presidential Task Force to Protect Students from Sexual Assault

On January 22, 2014, President Obama met with cabinet members and senior advisers on his White House Council on Women and Girls , and then signed a Memorandum to establish a White House Task Force to Protect Students from Sexual Assault.

Section 3 of the Memorandum reads as follows:

Action Plan.

(a)  Within 90 days of the date of this memorandum, the Task Force shall develop and submit proposals and recommendations to the President for:

(i)    providing examples of instructions, policies, and protocols for institutions, including: rape and sexual assault policies; prevention programs; crisis intervention and advocacy services; complaint and grievance procedures; investigation protocols; adjudicatory procedures; disciplinary sanctions; and training and orientation modules for students, staff, and faculty;

(ii)   measuring the success of prevention and response efforts at institutions, whether through compliance with individual policies or through broader assessments of campus climate, attitudes and safety, and providing the public with this information;

(iii)  maximizing the Federal Government’s effectiveness in combatting campus rape and sexual assault by, among other measures, making its enforcement activities transparent and accessible to students and prospective students nationwide; and

(iv)   promoting greater coordination and consistency among the agencies and offices that enforce the Federal laws addressing campus rape and sexual assault and support improved campus responses to sexual violence.

 (b)  Within 1 year of the date of this memorandum, and then on an annual basis, the Task Force shall provide a report to the President on implementation efforts with respect to this memorandum.

Members of the Task Force are listed in the President’s Memorandum. All of the members of the Task Force are actively seeking recommendations. U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder’s Office in the Department of Justice is particularly receptive to concerns and suggestions. Recommendations are due back to the President in 90 days.

Much of the Task Force’s focus is currently on student-on-student sexual assault. If you are concerned about faculty-on-student sexual misconduct, please take a moment to let a member of the task force know that it is also important to provide the White House with recommendations for preventing and responding to faculty misconduct.

January 29, 2014: House of Representatives Letter to the Office of Civil Rights

On January 29, 2014, 39 members of the U.S. House of Representatives sent a letter to the Office of Civil Rights (OCR), with content advice from members of ED Act Now, urging the OCR to issue a new Dear Colleague Letter of guidance (see, e.g., the April 2011 and April 2013 Dear Colleague Letters) to improve transparency of campus data, investigations, and enforcement data by, among other things, creating a centralized database, and also to provide additional guidance for responding to same-sex violence and gender identity discrimination.

You can help create the momentum required to keep Congress focused on this issue by contacting the representatives and/or senators for your state. Again, please let them know that your concerns are related to how best to prevent and respond to faculty sexual misconduct.

Because many offices receive 500 or more emails per day, it is often best to call first, and then send a follow-up email to a specific staff member.

Here’s the site with links to the list of contact information for the House of Representatives and the Senate: http://www.usa.gov/Contact/Elected.shtml Clicking on a name in the list will bring you out to individual web sites, which often have more complete contact information.

(Many Senators and Representatives, by the way, have already been touring universities in their districts, looking for input. If you happen to live in Connecticut, please contact both Congresswoman Rosa DeLauro and Senator Richard Blumenthal.)



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