spirit of service
Music: U.N.K.L.E.: Psyence Fiction (1998)
Today I just finished writing my first-ever "blurb" for a very good book on psychoanalysis and writing pedagogy (or "postpedagogy," as the author prefers): Thomas Rickert's Acts of Enjoyment: Rhetoric, Zizek, and the Return of the Subject, forthcoming from Pitt this year. Y'all go get it: it's really an earnest and brilliant attempt to bring theory into the classroom, but in a way that doesn't devolve into what I term the "pedagological retreat." The "pedagological retreat" is a style of argument in rhetorical studies that dismisses the abstraction of theory as "idealist" and justifies ignoring it in the name of the "children." Y'all know what I mean, cause we see it all the time.
Anyhoo, such blurbage is on the heels of a completed review of Grindstaff's Rhetorical Secrets: Mapping Gay Identity in Contemporary America, as well as a completed review of an essay for a journal yesterday. This kind of labor got me thinking about what constitutes "service to the field," not in terms of what counts toward tenure, but in terms of my obligation and responsibility as a scout in Camp Rhetorical Studies. What do I owe the field in exchange for my "knowledge" and professionalization? I have a job, of course, and in part that job is a consequence of certain key scholars having a faith in my work and viability as a rhetorician. What is the proper return gift for this faith? Or is my thinking about the field as an exchange of gifts simply wrong-headed?
I hope not. There's no way to escape "exchange"---I just hope to avoid the factory metaphors as long as is possible.
Nevertheless, although I am often frustrated by so-called blind reviewers in my field, and although I am often really annoyed by the lack of humor in what is, by most accounts, a culturally conservative discipline, I am often more annoyed by the arrogance and dismissive attitude of some colleagues in my field who make it a point to belittle rhetorical studies and the work done within it. Part of that attitude translates into a kind of gatekeeping meanness: "I am Mighty Reviewer, and on the basis of my superior knowledge I shall bar this crap from ever besmirching the pristine pages of this Sacred Journal." Service to the filed in this mode becomes sadistic. To echo my former DGS: "there's room for everbody!"
In my view, the spirit of service is socialization in two senses: first, creating a sense of community and belonging; and second, helping to show others how to be a part of the community by example. Although I do not agree juniors should be reviewing books, I think that practice is a laudable service to the field. Nasty reviews are simply uncalled for. The same goes for reviewing essays: why the nastiness when you can be blunt but constructive? I think all the junior folks should not continue what some of our elders do with this meanness, but see service rather as constructive support.
Recently I was in an argument with a person from another field. She said she believed it was her job to gate-keep as a reviewer, to separate the shit from the gold, and that's what she did, with great pleasure. Our field is so small, however, that I just don’t think we can afford to do this. I see my role as a reviewer as: (a) to determine if something can be worked into a publishable thing, which, frankly, is 80% of the time; (b) determine if the editor or me has the time to work with a revision; and (c) socialize scholars into the field. A and B could be understood as gatekeeping, but I don't think that's the purpose---the purpose is more pragmatic. The C point, though, is part of my service in a small field. It's not like we're an MLA-style mega-discipline in which one resorts to gatekeeping for pragmatic reasons.
Finally, I think the spirit of service is exemplified by a number of my colleagues by (a) nominating stuff for awards without having been asked to do so; and (b) emailing folks and telling them you dug their latest article. Many years ago Dana Cloud emailed me to express her appreciation for something that I published, and I was really touched. She was critical, but took the time to tell me. A few months ago a new colleague in Colorado did the same. Those kinds of shout-outs really go a long way toward giving the hard working juniors in our field a sense of belonging. Since Dana's missive, I, too, have made it a point to email the authors of articles I enjoyed---even if I disliked them.