I did my PhD studies in Europe, not the United States, so there wasn’t a set number of courses to go through and the program was a lot less structured than US grad school.
Seems like there’s a balance between checking one’s emotions and trying to convince oneself that one is not having them (the latter of which I would argue is unhealthy). Senior academics sometimes avail themselves of their power to humiliate which itself seems like the result of an unbalanced emotional life rather than an attempt to engage in constructive criticism in an attempt to get to the bottom of things (which is not only appropriate but required). Having an emotional reaction to being the object of pointless humiliation seems pretty natural and rather than sucking it up, at least going back to the office and having a good cry seems pretty sound to me. I’ll never forget a good talk given by a colleague after which a well known senior scientist opened the questions with “Well X let me start out by explaining why everything you just said is completely wrong”.
Honestly, I was criticized very harshly at a conference and went into another room to cry. When I went back and told someone that I trusted about the experience, how demoralizing and horrible and unfair it felt, her only response was “did they see you cry!??” When I said no, she sighed and said “good.” That felt almost as bad. I never understood why she said that. Thanks for this. I feel seen, in a way. Or at least less alone.
A lovely piece, Helen. Thank you. It reminded me of my first presentation at a Post grad research day during the first year of my PhD (was a 'mature student of 50). The person up before me gave a very powerful talk on 'honour killings' including very disturbing video clips. My talk was really bad - partly because I was so nervous but also because of the content of the previous talk. My supervisor at the time was supportive but later (possibly 6-8 months) when her role with me ended - she as changing posts - she was very cutting about it, 'Your PGR presentation was awful. You will have to do a lot better than that.'
Sociology Professor Gayle Letherby has written about her experience of harm in academia and has argued that this is an ethical matter. Why should ethics stop at the end of data collection? I Hope you don't mind if I include the following paragraph from my paper (Hadley, 2020),
'My experience illustrates that danger, harm and risk does not end with data collection. There are other risks ‘associated with leaving the field, analysing sensitive data, and fulfilling commitments to research participants in the delivery of research findings’ (Sampson et al., 2008: 930). In addition to
physical, emotional and ethical dangers, Geraldine Lee-Treweek and Stephanie Linkogle (2000) argued that researchers can face ‘professional danger’ when they challenge or deviate from existing academic, theoretical, methodological, occupational and/or institutional precepts (p. 20). Letherby (2014) highlighted how she was warned that the auto/biographical approach was ‘sloppy sociology’ and that colleagues might use personal material negatively. Moreover, she postulated that fear (and experience) of emotional, intellectual and professional violence leads researchers and writers to compose ‘the personal’ outside of reports and articles, if at all (Letherby, 2014). The majority of professional societies have clear and transparent ethical standards for members who are conducting research. Common to many are guidelines on ‘respect’, including to ‘do no harm’. These attributes
should also be applied to settings outside of research scholarship.' (page 8).
Lee-Treweek G and Linkogle S (2000) Putting danger in the frame. In: Lee-Treweek G and Linkogle S (eds) Dangerous Liaisons: Auto/Biography in Research and Research Writing. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, pp. 8–25.
Letherby G (2014) Feminist auto/biography. In: Evans M and Hemmings C (eds) The SAGE Handbook of Feminist Theory. London: SAGE, pp. 45–60.
Sampson H, Bloor M and Fincham B (2008) A price worth paying? Considering the ‘cost’ of reflexive research methods and the influence of feminist ways of ‘doing’. Sociology 42: 919–933.
Great piece, Helen, because you are considering the whole of academia here without fear of favour. It is the one before last paragraph that really comes to the core of the problem. We have thrown out the baby with the bathwater. It is essential that academics are able to investigate, scrutinise, analyse, search and research without being waylaid by personal passions or bias. But when we create this tough stance we are also in denial of our humanity. There is absolutely no reason why a cosmologist should not feel awe at the cosmos after having done all the calculations in quiet and focused mode. There is no reason philosophers should not feel deeply empathetic with the human plight, though they need to be cool and collected in thinking about it. There is no reason that psychologists should not resonate with their patients on many occasions, but they also have to be able to study those emotions with a neutral and detached attitude. What happens is that we forget that we can function at different levels. We have to rise above emotionality as academics, but we are never just academics. When we give in to becoming so judgemental and cruel in an examination or in a collegial exchange, we have lost touch with the level at which we are operating at that moment and what you are describing is a pathetic lack of concern for others, that we would decry in a politician or an industry boss. I think it is even better when we can do our academic job with a deep emotional awareness that is also mastered, but I have come to realize this is a tall order for most.
Reading your reflections on emotional suppression within academic philosophy, I found myself questioning whether this is a universal experience. Coming from a working-class background, my journey through UK academia was quite different.
During my undergraduate and postgraduate studies, I was candid in tutorials. I didn't hesitate to express myself fully—even if that meant swearing or challenging professors without the usual deference. This wasn't out of total disrespect but stemmed from a belief that genuine intellectual engagement requires authenticity, not adherence to unspoken codes of conduct.
when a professor told me I was "lucky to be there," implying I didn't belong due to my "underrepresented and underprivileged background." Instead of suppressing my feelings, I confronted him directly. For me, emotions are integral to meaningful discourse, not distractions to be suppressed. Hiding them can create an environment that feels inauthentic and exclusive, especially for those who don't fit the traditional academic mold.
In my experience, refusing to engage in typical university token behavior did ruffle many feathers among academics accustomed to more traditionally overly respectful students. However, it also led to more genuine and, I believe, more meaningful dialogues once they realised that I wasn't one to accept dismissive attitudes. It showed that respect doesn't have to mean uncritical agreement or subdued demeanor but can be demonstrated through earnest engagement and the courage to challenge ideas openly.
Academia tells people it is a space that values diverse backgrounds and perspectives, fostering inclusivity rather than conformity. My own experience contradicts that message - and I didn't shy away from confronting them about it.
Seems like there’s a balance between checking one’s emotions and trying to convince oneself that one is not having them (the latter of which I would argue is unhealthy). Senior academics sometimes avail themselves of their power to humiliate which itself seems like the result of an unbalanced emotional life rather than an attempt to engage in constructive criticism in an attempt to get to the bottom of things (which is not only appropriate but required). Having an emotional reaction to being the object of pointless humiliation seems pretty natural and rather than sucking it up, at least going back to the office and having a good cry seems pretty sound to me. I’ll never forget a good talk given by a colleague after which a well known senior scientist opened the questions with “Well X let me start out by explaining why everything you just said is completely wrong”.
Honestly, I was criticized very harshly at a conference and went into another room to cry. When I went back and told someone that I trusted about the experience, how demoralizing and horrible and unfair it felt, her only response was “did they see you cry!??” When I said no, she sighed and said “good.” That felt almost as bad. I never understood why she said that. Thanks for this. I feel seen, in a way. Or at least less alone.
A lovely piece, Helen. Thank you. It reminded me of my first presentation at a Post grad research day during the first year of my PhD (was a 'mature student of 50). The person up before me gave a very powerful talk on 'honour killings' including very disturbing video clips. My talk was really bad - partly because I was so nervous but also because of the content of the previous talk. My supervisor at the time was supportive but later (possibly 6-8 months) when her role with me ended - she as changing posts - she was very cutting about it, 'Your PGR presentation was awful. You will have to do a lot better than that.'
Sociology Professor Gayle Letherby has written about her experience of harm in academia and has argued that this is an ethical matter. Why should ethics stop at the end of data collection? I Hope you don't mind if I include the following paragraph from my paper (Hadley, 2020),
'My experience illustrates that danger, harm and risk does not end with data collection. There are other risks ‘associated with leaving the field, analysing sensitive data, and fulfilling commitments to research participants in the delivery of research findings’ (Sampson et al., 2008: 930). In addition to
physical, emotional and ethical dangers, Geraldine Lee-Treweek and Stephanie Linkogle (2000) argued that researchers can face ‘professional danger’ when they challenge or deviate from existing academic, theoretical, methodological, occupational and/or institutional precepts (p. 20). Letherby (2014) highlighted how she was warned that the auto/biographical approach was ‘sloppy sociology’ and that colleagues might use personal material negatively. Moreover, she postulated that fear (and experience) of emotional, intellectual and professional violence leads researchers and writers to compose ‘the personal’ outside of reports and articles, if at all (Letherby, 2014). The majority of professional societies have clear and transparent ethical standards for members who are conducting research. Common to many are guidelines on ‘respect’, including to ‘do no harm’. These attributes
should also be applied to settings outside of research scholarship.' (page 8).
Refs:
Hadley, R.A. 2020. ‘Men and Me(n).’ Methodological Innovations, 13(2). DOI: 10.1177/2059799120918336
Lee-Treweek G and Linkogle S (2000) Putting danger in the frame. In: Lee-Treweek G and Linkogle S (eds) Dangerous Liaisons: Auto/Biography in Research and Research Writing. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, pp. 8–25.
Letherby G (2014) Feminist auto/biography. In: Evans M and Hemmings C (eds) The SAGE Handbook of Feminist Theory. London: SAGE, pp. 45–60.
Sampson H, Bloor M and Fincham B (2008) A price worth paying? Considering the ‘cost’ of reflexive research methods and the influence of feminist ways of ‘doing’. Sociology 42: 919–933.
Great piece, Helen, because you are considering the whole of academia here without fear of favour. It is the one before last paragraph that really comes to the core of the problem. We have thrown out the baby with the bathwater. It is essential that academics are able to investigate, scrutinise, analyse, search and research without being waylaid by personal passions or bias. But when we create this tough stance we are also in denial of our humanity. There is absolutely no reason why a cosmologist should not feel awe at the cosmos after having done all the calculations in quiet and focused mode. There is no reason philosophers should not feel deeply empathetic with the human plight, though they need to be cool and collected in thinking about it. There is no reason that psychologists should not resonate with their patients on many occasions, but they also have to be able to study those emotions with a neutral and detached attitude. What happens is that we forget that we can function at different levels. We have to rise above emotionality as academics, but we are never just academics. When we give in to becoming so judgemental and cruel in an examination or in a collegial exchange, we have lost touch with the level at which we are operating at that moment and what you are describing is a pathetic lack of concern for others, that we would decry in a politician or an industry boss. I think it is even better when we can do our academic job with a deep emotional awareness that is also mastered, but I have come to realize this is a tall order for most.
Reading your reflections on emotional suppression within academic philosophy, I found myself questioning whether this is a universal experience. Coming from a working-class background, my journey through UK academia was quite different.
During my undergraduate and postgraduate studies, I was candid in tutorials. I didn't hesitate to express myself fully—even if that meant swearing or challenging professors without the usual deference. This wasn't out of total disrespect but stemmed from a belief that genuine intellectual engagement requires authenticity, not adherence to unspoken codes of conduct.
when a professor told me I was "lucky to be there," implying I didn't belong due to my "underrepresented and underprivileged background." Instead of suppressing my feelings, I confronted him directly. For me, emotions are integral to meaningful discourse, not distractions to be suppressed. Hiding them can create an environment that feels inauthentic and exclusive, especially for those who don't fit the traditional academic mold.
In my experience, refusing to engage in typical university token behavior did ruffle many feathers among academics accustomed to more traditionally overly respectful students. However, it also led to more genuine and, I believe, more meaningful dialogues once they realised that I wasn't one to accept dismissive attitudes. It showed that respect doesn't have to mean uncritical agreement or subdued demeanor but can be demonstrated through earnest engagement and the courage to challenge ideas openly.
Academia tells people it is a space that values diverse backgrounds and perspectives, fostering inclusivity rather than conformity. My own experience contradicts that message - and I didn't shy away from confronting them about it.