Academia was introduced to me as an essential part of life at a young age. I have been lucky enough to have been educated in environments in which curiosity was encouraged – a value that has shaped my life in and out of classrooms. I think this explains many things about my self-conception and the way I do things, like the perhaps unnecessarily diligent approach I take to reading (such as, most recently, Amy Poehler’s wonderful book). Admittedly, I attack many books with my highlightedr regardless of whether or not I’ll be tested on their content. For me, my school and out-of-school life have been two sides of the same coin: a coin which my parents and I are willingly spending on a higher form of education this year.
A few months ago I couldn’t wait to begin my first year at university. I was especially excited to attend my school because of the many distinguished women on its alumni list and, moreover, a family friend had enthusiastically described the university’s esteemed professors from all over the world and called it the “best” place in Canada to study the arts. I (humblebraggedly) was admitted to this school, my top choice, and made carefully devised plans to pursue an area of study that interested me. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted, but I was accepted into a first-year program about culture and society – two categories in which I realized my interests fit perfectly. I was delighted at the thought of a diverse study experience.
By the end of my first week, though, I was exhausted. I was not particularly thrilled about any of my classes, but not yet discouraged either. I was also disappointed about having to switch out of my “Women and Gender Studies” class due to a course conflict and into a boring alternative class. Something felt oddly homogenous about the classes in which I expected variety and stimulation. This is when I realized: all my professors are white men.
My classes range in size from 25 to 1700 people and white, male professors lead them all. When the professor of my largest course concluded his lecture series, another white man replaced him. And in my smallest course, in which only one boy sits among twenty lady peers, the head of the class also fulfilled the world’s most powerful demographic. What a bizarre circumstance, I thought, given my specific initial expectations of diversity. The possibility of having exclusively male professors hadn’t even crossed my mind in my half pre-determined, half elected course configuration. Sure, I had read reviews about my professors going into the courses, but their names were only represented by single letters. I had no insight into my professors’ backgrounds and did not think to inquire about them.
In high school, the extent of information one learns about a certain topic is typically quite close to whatever the school board decides. In university, however, I have already found that educators’ personal opinions are much more fluidly integrated into syllabi, readings, etc. Many professors, for instance, will even design courses around their personal research theses. So when multiple professors teach different sections of the same course, they can and do use vastly different texts and methods to do so which results in very different educational experiences. In my case, I can’t help but feel that the fact that all of my professors are white men is an integral aspect of my education this year.
None of my professors perpetuate blatant misogynistic or inequitable character traits (as would probably be the case in the movie-version of this story). They are undoubtedly qualified to be teaching my courses, but I cannot help but wonder how the lack of diversity is affecting the content of what they teach. I wonder if I would relate more to a female professor, or to one who shares my Korean background. I wonder if the discussions in my course about cultural forms would include a more comprehensive emphasis on the changing role of women in media should a woman teach it. I wonder if the ever-stirring conversation about men’s authority over women in the workplace would be dissected in a new light if someone else led my American History course.
Apart from reading for more hours than I have ever read and writing more essays than I thought I ever would, I can’t be sure how these past few months in such a learning environment have affected me. But particularly in today’s climate of challenging white, male privilege, I cannot ignore the current status of my education. I am excited for what the rest of my university education will teach me, but next year I will certainly pay more attention to professors when choosing my classes.
