I got fired.
I guess that is not precisely true.
I took a “voluntary” separation incentive to leave my position.
It doesn’t feel voluntary.
This winter, close to thirty tenured faculty at my regional public university in New Hampshire will “voluntarily” leave their positions or face retrenchment, which is the odd word that academics use in place of “getting fired.” I am one of the faculty members who is choosing to separate rather than waiting to be separated.
I don’t think this has anything to do with my job performance. I have won many internal awards at my university over the twenty-five years that I have served on its faculty. A couple of years ago, I even received one of the highest educational honors in the region: the Educational Excellence Award from the New England Board of Higher Education, for my impact on college affordability in New Hampshire. I don’t think any of the “separating” faculty members– the vast majority of whom are in the Humanities– are being terminated for job performance. The list of folks departing is a Who’s Who of all the best and most beloved of our university. What’s happening at my university is a direct result of the decades-long underfunding of public higher education in New Hampshire. This year’s latest legislative cut to the state university system that already had the lowest per-student funding (and the highest student debtload) in the country was the nail in the coffin for our operating budget. So a third of the faculty are being asked to leave. If we don’t, we will have to leave anyway.
At 53 years old and the sole earner for my family of three (my partner took a “voluntary” separation from the same university a few years ago when his major– Sculpture– was cut, one of the first to go), I feel a little young to celebrate any kind of “retirement.” But I am certainly feeling blessed that my own kid only has a year left of college and that our house is (sort of) almost paid off. For many of my earlier-career colleagues with young families, this will feel like total financial devastation.
But what’s gutted me most is not concern for my own circumstances or even those of my colleagues. I am gutted for New Hampshire, and particularly for the North Country, the rural area that my regional college serves. Many of the Pell-eligible, first-generation college students that attend my university are students who, data shows, likely would not go to college at all without our university close to home. Because we “live [tax-free] or die” here in the Granite State, students pay exorbitant costs already to access higher education. And now the budget situation means the closing of many, many majors; the reduction of choice in what careers and passions our students can pursue; the possible consolidation or closure of campuses; and the reduction of student support and library services.
Until yesterday, I was the Director of Learning & Libraries. Yesterday, I went on leave in advance of my permanent “separation” on January 2 this winter. At my university, I have been an English professor, the chair of Interdisciplinary Studies, and the founder of our faculty teaching & learning center. But my position as director of the library and learning commons was my dream job, with my dream team of colleagues. My position has been eliminated, and the dream team– often praised by students, colleagues, and administrators as one of the highest impact and positive forces at the university– has been carved up and spread across remaining offices.
I am spending time thinking about my legacy. Despite the hardship of working under austerity for so many years, I always felt like what I was building here was making a difference, at least in the lives of individuals who our programs were serving. I don’t mean to be sour, but it is hard to feel good about working so long and hard for so many years only to have so much of it undone with the flick of a pen. It is hard to labor so long and hard in public institutions only to have my legislative representatives fail to support that work at even the most basic levels.
What’s next for me? I am lucky to have a rich scholarly and professional life outside of my current job, and that work will continue, I am sure. I am pretty firmly rooted at my home, and don’t plan to move, but I am applying here and there to very select remote positions that would allow me to continue my advocacy for open, humane, and just educational pathways.
I am also feeding my soul, which is a little battered to be honest. Spending lots of times with my pups, reading voraciously, baking bread (sounds cliché, but if you know me well, it sounds anything but), and training to be an on-call EMT with my local town fire department (I’ll be a “first responder” by May, and I am going to be so good at it! Don’t look at me like I am nuts!). I tend to do my most innovative and exciting work when I am comfortable and safe, but I am trying to enjoy a new way of being, where every day opens with a lot more unknowns than I am used to. I am surprised at how healthy and worthwhile this feels, actually.
Like many teachers, I never really saw my job as a job. It was for me a vocation, and it gave my life a lot of meaning. As part of my “separation,” I have to promise not to work at any public university in my state for two years. I really do feel the grief in being separated from my calling, and from the place that has felt like home for so long. I have always understood that “institutions won’t love you back”; I never asked for that. But I am not embarrassed that I deeply loved and will always love Plymouth State. And I am not bitter at those who are “separating” me from the place I love. Most of those people come and go. I have outlasted many of them over the years. This time does feel different, not just because I have to say good-bye, but because there is so much doubt over the future of this place, which was founded in 1871 and every day now struggles to keep its doors open.