Corruption in the Academy:
The Tenure Case of KC Johnson
Jerome Sternstein
Address, Metropolitan Club, Washington DC
March 14, 2003
Last Spring, while attending the annual meeting of the Organization of
American Historians, I ran into an old acquaintance -- I'll call him Bill
-- who teaches American history at a Texas university. Repairing to the
hotel's restaurant for coffee, we discussed what we had been up to since
we last met, as well as the state of the historical profession and the
world, neither of which, we agreed, was in very good shape. Later, I
contacted a mutual friend, call him Harry, an historian at SUNY, and told
him about meeting Bill. Here's his response:
"Bill is terrific and charming, though if academics knew his
conservative views they'd shun him. Gender, race, and ethnicity reign
supreme. When I retire they'll replace me with a radical social historian
who uses the proper radical jargon and writes on the proper radical
topics."
I wasn't startled at all by Harry's assumption that Bill, however
"terrific and charming," would have a tough time if academics were aware
he held conservative opinions -- that he thought, for instance, that Bush
was an excellent governor and was doing a good job as President, or that
he believed "Marxist radicals, assisted by ignorant administrators" were
turning many colleges into indoctrination camps. Such views would
certainly outrage most academics and brand the person holding them a
"right winger." And in the present intellectual climate that tag is the
kiss of death.
Aware of this, Bill is careful to keep his political opinions to
himself -- though obviously he shared them with me since he knows I
wouldn't shun him, and with Harry, who won't either despite being repelled
by them, mainly because Bill assigns Harry's American History textbook to
about 1000 students in his survey course every year, allowing Harry to buy
the expensive wines he craves.
For career purposes, Bill is smart to practice self-censorship. The
American academy today, for all of its talk about its commitment to
academic freedom and intellectual openness, often punishes and
marginalizes individuals who take those values seriously, especially those
who do not march in lockstep with the prevailing politically correct
orthodoxies. For evidence of this, one need only examine what happened to
historian Robert David "KC" Johnson, a superb scholar and popular teacher,
at Brooklyn College, CUNY. He was turned down for promotion and tenure and
denied reappointment for an alleged lack of "collegiality," when in
reality the history department's resident ideologues and an unscrupulous
chairman, Phil Gallagher, sought to purge him because he expressed
opinions and took positions on academic and other issues contrary to their
own.
When Johnson arrived at Brooklyn College in 1999 after four years at
Williams College, the history department was undergoing a major overhaul
-- some would say rejuvenation -- as a result of twelve or so retirements
between 1998 and 2000, mine being one of them. Everybody was thrilled when
Johnson accepted Brooklyn's offer of an Associate Professorship. And why
wouldn't they? With a Ph.D. from Harvard, and only in his mid-thirties,
Johnson had already authored three acclaimed books, a score or more of
scholarly articles, had received a large grant to edit the complete Lyndon
Johnson tapes, and was in the process of completing a study of the 1964
presidential election. Moreover, he had a reputation for being an
inspiring teacher, which was quickly confirmed. Students flocked to his
courses and jammed his office. He was also a glutton for committee work.
Recognizing this, the chairman appointed him to the curriculum committee,
and his colleagues elected him to the all important appointments committee
and as the department representative to the faculty union.
Before the Fall of 2001, an observer noted, Johnson "walked on
departmental water." Practically everyone agreed with the chairman that he
was the best appointment in two decades. Eventually, however, some senior
colleagues, primarily those who identified themselves as cutting-edge
leftists, reached a different judgment. They began to identify Johnson as
an independent thinker, perhaps even a conservative Republican -- which,
the truth be known, he isn't -- whose principled stances on issues and
stature as a nationally recognized scholar threatened their agenda, part
of which was to pack the department with compatible ideologues, most of
them friends or former students. Johnson's appointment, they concluded,
was a big mistake.
---------
Sensing their hostility to Johnson early on, chairman Gallagher shared
his understanding of their personalities with him. He described them as
"academic terrorists" who took no prisoners, and denounced one in
particular, a radical feminist, as "an unscrupulous and unprofessional
mole." He warned Johnson he would need "bullet proof vests" if he ever
crossed her.
And predictably, such vests would have come in handy as the "academic
terrorists" imputed to Johnson Svengali-like powers, implicating him
whenever they were thwarted trying to advance their ideological agenda.
For example, when the curriculum committee decided that a Masters Degree
offering on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict proposed by one of them, a
camp follower of Edward Said, lacked scholarly integrity and needed
revision, they attributed that action solely to Johnson, though four of
the five committee members voted for it. And when their favorite
candidates for job openings in Latin American and American Social History
lost out to people with superior credentials, they fingered Johnson as the
culprit, heaping blame on him for the outcome largely because he read all
of the candidates' files, articles, dissertations, and books, and
distributed detailed evaluations which many of his less prepared
colleagues found useful and persuasive in reaching their own decisions. To
the "terrorists" this was proof positive, as one of them wrote, that
Johnson was trying "to take over the department and call the shots."
Accordingly, they announced their intention to launch a "Reign of
Terror" against him. Their campaign gained momentum after Johnson publicly
took issue with a post 9/11 teach-in organized by the very "terrorist" who
uttered that threat. Johnson, who has written extensively on American
diplomacy, criticized the panel as unbalanced, since all the speakers were
known opponents of an American military response, and none were supporters
of United States or Israeli policy. Though two tenured colleagues voiced
similar concerns, only Johnson was summoned before the college Provost,
Roberta Matthews, who expressed her displeasure with his outspokenness.
And coming from the Provost, whose duty it was to oversee the tenure
process to insure it was fair and unbiased, such notice that the
administration believed principled disagreement with the prevailing
leftist orthodoxy was uncollegial could not help but comfort Johnson's
enemies.
Much to their delight, their campaign then merged with a dispute that
arose between Chairman Gallagher and Johnson over a search for a European
historian. Though not an ideologue, Gallagher was known to view policy
disagreements as affronts to his authority. He was also sensitive to the
personal and ideological currents swirling around him and the menace they
posed to his elected position.
Thus anxious to propitiate the "academic terrorists" who pressed for
the appointment of a woman specializing in gender studies, and acceding to
hints emanating from the College president, Cristoph Kimmich, to take note
of a favored female candidate, Gallagher sought to confine the search, as
he e-mailed Johnson, to "some women we can live with, who are not whiners
from the word go or who need therapy as much as they need a job."
Johnson resisted, believing the appointee should be the best available
candidate regardless of sex or race -- or even their need for therapy -- a
stance ratified by a majority of the appointments committee. Unable to
convince them otherwise, Gallagher lashed out at Johnson and turned on him
with a vengeance. Whereas previously he had praised Johnson profusely and
wrote glowing yearly evaluations, he now began manufacturing a spurious
case of "uncollegiality," having heard from the College's labor relations
office that using "collegiality" as a criteria in academic personnel
decisions would be grievance-proof. To build his case, Gallagher harassed
Johnson with specious memos asserting he deliberately ignored college
regulations by allowing students to take his courses without proper
prerequisites; he attacked Johnson's ��‹integrity, falsely accusing
him of manipulating his workload for his own benefit. And he placed these
contrived allegations in Johnson's personnel file for the attention of the
tenure committees then considering his application.
Working in tandem with the "terrorists." Gallagher and his deputy
poisoned the tenure process in many other ways: they appointed a
department representative opposed to Johnson's candidacy to the tenure
committee chaired by the Provost; they sent letters to the president
filled with scurrilous accusations which Johnson was never informed of and
hence could not refute; and they spread scandalous rumors that even I
heard in retirement hundreds of miles away. One of the less nasty rumors
was that Johnson had "collegiality" problems at Williams College. But
unbeknownst to everybody, a former Williams history department chair had
written Gallagher stating the exact opposite, that Johnson was an
exceptional colleague they would have granted tenure to in an instant had
he wanted to stay. Yet Gallagher remained silent and failed to inform the
college tenure and promotion committee of this fact when the rumor was
mentioned in his presence.
There is a great deal to add about this sorry affair, but the foregoing
is more than adequate to demonstrate that it was easily the most abusive
and corrupted tenure process anyone is ever likely to see -- and after
almost thirty years at Brooklyn College, a good number of them spent as a
union grievance officer handling such issues, I've seen my full share of
corrupted processes. But none on this scale or with this level of
duplicity.
But luckily for Johnson he secured a good lawyer and the City
University is governed by a Collective Bargaining Agreement with
established grievance procedures that allows for outside arbitration when
all else fails. In Johnson's case, because of the egregious violations of
his rights and the national outrage it provoked among historians and
others, last month CUNY reached a settlement with Johnson that provided
for a special faculty committee of three distinguished scholars
unconnected with Brooklyn College to review the record and make a
recommendation. It unanimously found for Johnson, and Chancellor
Goldstein, after reviewing the files himself, interviewing Johnson, and
reading one of his books, concluded that his "truly outstanding record of
scholarship, teaching and other aspects of service" merited promotion and
tenure, a decision endorsed by the CUNY Board of Trustees.
Recently, a commentator pointed to Brooklyn College and its treatment
of Johnson as "an exemplary instance of the sort of petty, internecine
corruption that runs rife in academe, where accountability is minimal and
the power to destroy careers is correspondingly high." I couldn't agree
more. But the question remains whether anything can be done to avoid
similar situations other than allowing academics injured by the abuse of
process access to outside arbitration or the courts? Is what happened to
Johnson -- and too many others, I submit -- a reason to limit or restrain
academic self government, as some propose? I don't think so. But the fact
that nobody at Brooklyn College has been disciplined or sanctioned speaks
volumes, I believe, for the need of trustees and alumni to get more
involved in the governance of the institutions they're associated with. If
nothing else, that's the least they can do to insure that politicized
faculty and administrators under the guise of "collegiality" do not
succeed in their quest for ideological conformity.