Author Archives: Grace Krause

I got told what to call this poem by my male colleague

This poem is for all the men
Who have sacrificed their time
To explain my research to me.
In train stations and hallways
At 1am drunk at a party
And over bad coffee after a presentation.
Often knowing no more about my research
Than a title
You have sacrificed your chance to learn
In order to enlighten me to the depth of your knowledge.
 
Thank you for telling me “it’s all just greed”
When I told you I was researching moral beliefs in finance
Thank you for telling me about the gold standard
And for explaining the plot of The Wolf of Wall Street to me
And that financial crises would not hit people so hard
If they only diversified their portfolios
And thank you for telling me to read Chomsky
And Žižek and Graeber
And all the other Great Men.
And no, I did not know that Paul Krugman had a blog.
Thank you for reminding me to cite your book.
 
Thank you for the first-year PhD student
Who gave me advice on how to prepare for my viva
Within the first three minutes of our conversation
(Yes, I timed you)
 
A special thank you to my dissertation advisor
Who, when I told him what I wanted to write about,
Told me about his son’s last holiday abroad
And how his son had told him something interesting
Vaguely related
To my interests
And wouldn’t that be a more interesting topic to write about?
I’m sorry I never went to another meeting with you
And stuck to my topic.
Thank you for giving me a B minus.
I’m sure you weren’t punishing me
Even if the thesis got a straight A from the second marker
And won a distinction when I defended it at a conference.
 
Thank you to the professor who in the Q/A after my presentation
Informed me that I should not have included
Discussions of the Stanford Prison Experiment
Or the work of Stanley Milgram
In my work on war crimes
I did not know psychology wasn’t a real science
And that it can’t possibly tell us anything
That isn’t completely obvious
To you.
 
Thank you also to the lecturer from a different university
Who shouted in my ear
In the pub after my presentation
That I had to read the Walking Dead comics
If I really wanted to understand the genre
Because the 12 films in my sample
Were not sufficient
And yes, you were standing very close
But you were a star
And everyone said you were hot
And I was flattered
So I guess it wouldn’t be fair to call you creepy retrospectively.
 
Thank you also to the professor
Who, at a meeting about what principles should guide universities,
Took care to make it clear that his point,
About a commitment to truth,
Was more important
Than my point
About working conditions.
Because I might have thought that my voice mattered as much as yours
Had you not thought to include the words
“This is the most important thing”
And
“If we don’t have an absolute commitment to truth
(Or was it a commitment to absolute truth?)
All the other details, like working conditions, don’t matter”
I am still not sure what you meant.
But maybe that is just my own financial insecurity
Clouding my judgement and distorting my priorities
And if I were just a white male professor
I could better be objective
And less worried about working conditions
And more committed to absolute truth.
 
And thank you dear self-described libertarian on twitter
For informing me
That I wouldn’t have such a victim mentality
If I hadn’t decided to do a PhD in unemployment
And yes, extreme virtue-signalling bitter feminazi bitch is a good description of my character
How insightful of you.
 
Thank you to the young man
Who dropped out of organising a workshop
Based on principles of anti-oppressive pedagogy
Because he disagreed with our decision not to invite a charismatic male speaker
Who he liked
Who would have had so much more appeal
Than me.
Thank you also for the lengthy email explaining
You weren’t interested in taking part in something so niche
That would only appeal to a postmodern crowd
Whereas you were more interested
In getting students excited
About revolution.
Thank you for your feedback.
It was surely helpful in making our event the success it was.
I’m sorry I missed your event with broader appeal
I seemed to have missed the invite for that.
I hope it went well.
 
Thank you also, of course,
To the numerous men
Who have informed me about the importance of putting class politics in front of identity politics
And that talking about racism or sexism is a distraction
From the real issues
And that wanting to talk about how oppression affects different people differently
Divides the left.
It is a little strange that I never see any of you at the union meetings
Or on the picket line
And I am not sure what class politics are
Beyond shouting at people
But I am sure you are doing good work elsewhere
With your undivided left.
 
I owe you all a debt of gratitude
And an apology, I suppose.
I am sorry that when we met
All I was good for
Was your assertion of dominance
A canvas for your insecurity
Which is frankly an underutilisation of my skills and my intellect
I am sorry for your stunted growth
For your arrested development
Which made a real engagement between us impossible
And that is more your loss than mine.
 
And I am sorry
That I will not try harder
To win your respect
I will not seek you out
I will walk away mid-sentence
I will mute you on twitter
And let you shout into the void
Because I care nothing for your approval.
I am done leaning in.
 
Because there are more than enough
People who will build a community with me,
Which is not built on dominance.
And I am sorry
That you will not have a place in that community
Until you learn that one half of the population
Does not just exist
To listen to you
Explaining their research to them.
 
 By Grace Krause

Follow me on Twitter for more extreme virtue signalling bitter feminazi victim mentality @TheGraceK

With thanks (real ones this time) to Will Mason-Wilkes for naming this poem and to Ellie Johnson for providing me with the most amazing picture of her cat Brenda.
And an apology (also real) to David Graeber, Noam Chomsky and Paul Krugman, whose work I greatly respect.
 
 

Resilience or Fuck You Neoliberalism – a strike poem

I should do a squat every day
My yoga teacher tells me
While I am perched awkwardly on my mat
Breathing through the pain
I’m not supposed to be feeling
Every day just do a squat
And a plank
And a downward facing dog.
It’s just a little effort and you’ll feel so much better.

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Impostor Syndrome and the Paradox of Agency

Like many other young academics I remember feeling an acute sense of relief the first time I was told about impostor syndrome. Giving my underlying feelings of inadequacy a name and defining them as a syndrome made them manageable, made it slightly less likely that I was the only one who really didn’t know how to be a researcher.

If you put impostor syndrome into google you will find countless guides on how to overcome it. In the style of cognitive behavioural therapy we are encouraged to work on ourselves, in order to not let our erroneous beliefs limit us. I’m don’t necessarily disagree with this. impostor syndrome affects us individually and it therefore might be helpful for us to develop some strategies to deal with it on an individual level. But what troubles me about these approaches is that they tend to treat it as a matter of personal pathology and thereby individualising it. Impostor syndrome is something that is wrong about me.

Rather, we need to understand impostor syndrome as a form of social sufferingg, as a symptom, not of something wrong with us, but with the world we live and work in. In this short article I will explore impostor syndrome in terms of how it reflects on our sense of belonging and the conflicting values we are faced as academics and how it shows us the paradoxical nature of neoliberal agency.

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Sadness and Solidarity – The strike as utopia

The past three weeks have been amongst the most impressive of my life. The current University and College Union (UCU) strike about pensions is not the first political or social campaign I have been involved in, but it is certainly the biggest. Members of the University and College Union in 65 UK universities are striking for 14 days across 4 weeks, the longest strike action the British higher education system has ever seen.

What I was least prepared for before the strike was the intensity of emotion it would trigger in me. Throughout the last three weeks I have felt a range of expected and unexpected feelings and I would like to take the two most intense ones to reflect on the strike and what is to come after.

Sadness

In a rather ill-advised move Universities UK tweeted their support for #unimentalhealth day on 1. March. The tweet reads “We all have a part to play in creating a positive mental health community at university. Join the movement this #UniMentalHealthDay It did not go down well. While I had an extremely enjoyable time looking at the often scornful but hilarious response s to this tweet they belie a darker reality. There is a lot of talk about the “mental health epidemic “ in higher education, with significantly higher numbers of mental health disorders recorded amongst both academics and students.

Of course good mental health care provisions are important. When someone has reached a crisis point they need support in order to get back on their feet. Staff and student welfare resources need to be expanded and made accessible for anyone who needs them; they save lives. But there is also something terribly symbolic and cynical about this focus on mental health. What we are really talking about when we are talking about a mental health epidemic amongst academics is the fact that neoliberal universities  causes immense personal suffering to their staff and students.

The strike has enabled us to have some long overdue conversations on the nature of this suffering and the way it has affected us personally. Throughout an excellent Teach-Out on the topic  and so many different conversations I have had over the last three weeks, often with complete strangers, the intensity of suffering and injury caused through the way we work has become abundantly clear to me. Through the focus on mental health we often allow ourselves to think of this suffering as form of individual defect which needs treatment. But really, when we are talking about rising numbers of depression and anxiety in academics we are talking about people who feel so overwhelmed with their workloads they can no longer cope. We are talking about people dissolving into tears over their emails, about people not being able to get out of bed on their days off, people’s hearts racing in fear at the thought of another meeting, about people whose bodies finally give in, making them physically unable to keep going. Maybe the most heart-breaking part about of this is the intense guilt that many of us feel when we finally reach breaking point. We know that by not pulling our weight, it is our colleagues who will have to shoulder our bit of the work too.

The strike gives all of us an opportunity to really talk about how badly we have been hurt. Maybe the most moving moments for me were those in which people spoke about how the constant stress affected their capacity to feel compassion for others. One of the most painful realisations about the neoliberal university  is that it not only turns us into victims, it also turns us into perpetrators. Often we pass on the disrespect and pain we experience on to others, most unforgivably our students. We bitch about them, complain about their demanding attitudes and poor work ethic and their disinterestedness, while all the while we are contributing to a system which encourages exactly these attributes. I used to joke about marking exams, that with each copy of a particular exam I marked I cut off a bit of my soul. This may be a very dramatic way of putting it, but it is not an inaccurate one. Complicity in an unjust system damages us. The fact that each of these injuries we sustain is tiny in itself (we are, after all, still on average incredibly privileged compared to so many others) makes it hard to really admit the emotional toll it has on us. We feel we are dying a death by a thousand cuts. Continue reading

David Cameron and the politics of superfluousness

Last week, voters in the UK chose to re-elect the Conservatives to rule Britain another five years. Because of this decision tens of thousands of people will needlessly suffer. Some will die. It is really that simple. Britain’s current austerity politics have been linked to widespread social harm, and we have been promised that there will be much more austerity to come.
The Tories’ election manifesto includes the promise of more measures aimed at saving £12 billion in welfare. These 12 billion will come out of the money we have put aside to protect the weakest among us. Those least able to defend themselves are going to be hit hardest.

In the rhetoric of post crises politics, these cuts are necessary to lift Britain out of recession. They are a sacrifice we all must bring, because “In a world of fierce competitiveness – a world where no-one is owed a living – we need to have a welfare system that the country can properly afford.” The idea that welfare cuts and austerity are suitable measures to strengthen an economy is on shaky empirical grounds, to say the least. The idea that austerity is the only way to save money is nonsense. The 12 billion in saving are offset by tax cuts to the wealthy. In this election the Conservatives have promised to put the threshold at which tax payers would have to pay the top tax rate up to £50.000 a year. Voters last week decided that it is more important for people who are reasonably wealthy to be a little more wealthy than that the needs of those who have very little are met. In short, the British electorate have decided they want to be ruled by party whose actions are fundamentally and obviously immoral. How did that happen? Continue reading

Wasted Potential: Towards a Criminology of the Financial Crisis

Cool Criminology

An undeniable advantage of being a criminologist is that it sounds cool. Granted, the coolness factor of saying, ‘I’m a criminologist’ wears off quickly, usually when you admit that you cannot solve crime, are not a profiler and know little about psychopaths. But criminology is still one of the flashier branches of sociology.154892_470402089153_5744732_n

Critical criminology is especially cool. We fight the system and question cultural hegemony. We investigate the criminal justice system and modes of surveillance. We challenge definitions of crime. We like hanging out with drug dealers, refugees, prostitutes or anyone, really, who is perceived as deviant by mainstream society.

There are many different schools of thought within critical criminology. We may have our differences, but we can all agree on who we are not like: financial analysts and bankers, clean-cut, serious people in suits who have starting salaries tenured professors can only dream of – those people we all know who sit in steel and glass towers and play with highly complex mathematical models, who can make millions at the wink of an eye. We criminologists may work with concepts like capitalism, neo-liberalism or consumer culture. But we mostly look at how they affect people at the bottom of the social ladder. Rarely do we look at those prospering from our current financial system. Continue reading

The Problem With Charity

Having leveled my palace, don’t erect a hovel and complacently admire your own charity in giving me that for a home. – Emily Bronte

How I stifled a revolution

The first time I heard someone say that social work played a distinct role in maintaining social inequality on oppressive political systems I got really angry. I felt personally insulted by the suggestion that social work could be seen as a form of control – as part of the force that keeps those who suffer worst from social injustice in check. “Why don’t you go piss someone off who deserves it?” I thought. “We’re only trying to help.”

That night I had a shift in the homeless shelter I worked. I worked with homeless men with drug abuse issues. People who are often considered the ‘underbelly of society’. As I settled down in my office one of the residents came in. He was obviously upset and angry about a visit to the local Job Centre that day. He had had an appointment with his caseworker and felt he had been treated disrespectfully. ”She treated me like scum.” He said. “If she talks to me like that again I will take her fucking computer screen and bash it in her face”. I talked to him for a while. I told him I understood how he felt. That I knew how unfair it was. But that this was just the way it was. And that he would just have to suck up to her and smile and nod, or he would be even worse off. He seemed calmer after we talked and went to bed after assuring me that he was not going to physically attack anyone. As I watched him walk away it dawned on me that I had just successfully stifled someone’s plan to resist being a victim of oppression.

This experience is not untypical. By sticking band aids onto the gaping wounds of social injustice we alleviate some of the most obvious symptoms of a systemic violence in our society. We become part of the problem while trying to be part of the solution. This conflict is made all the more difficult by the fact that we can’t just choose not to do what we do. I can’t pretend I believe I should have not tried to dissuade that young man from acting out his frustration by physically harming someone who was just as stuck in the system as he was. I can’t claim that I think homeless shelters shouldn’t exist because people who are at the bottom of the social ladder should be made to feel even worse than they already do so that they will start fighting back. But this episode does keeps bothering me.

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