It's not just about Foucault, or whiteness, people
Mature students should unite. But where are you?
Today I filed my last paper in fulfilling the requirements of an Honours Degree in Journalism at Rhodes in Grahamstown, South Africa, and I am really proud to have stuck it out and finished my year. At 55, I was newly retired when I applied to, and was accepted by, the university based on my life's work experience since I don't hold a basic undergraduate degree. It was a bit of a shock, I will admit, but I reasoned that I could do it if I was just given a chance. And so I went for it.
I will be 56 when I graduate. While not anywhere close to being a spring chicken any longer, I nevertheless fully expected to be among at least a handful of semi-"toppies" seeking a (the) qualification that they were denied (as I was) by personal circumstance or social conditioning. I anticipated being among at least a few people of a certain age who were seeking an intellectual stretch at mid-life.
But I could not have been more mistaken. Other than me, the oldest person in my class turned 30 during our year and most were aged around 21. In every lecture, in every viewing, in every seminar, throughout my year, I never encountered anyone anywhere near my age, other than the professors. (Interesting that, by the way. Not that it should be any different, but be warned: Contemporaries and maybe even ex-colleagues they may be outside of the academy, but when your are in class, your in the class, if you get my drift.)
So I walked a lonely road this year, and I most certainly should not have. Here's why:
Despite being a journalist and strategic communicator (blah blah) all my life, I have learned, this year, that I never really knew how to think. At least not deeply and critically. I never knew how to structure my proposals, to argue my point effectively, to bolster a position with research and theory. I wrote well-ish I suppose, but a talent, such as it might exist, needs tutelage and - despite having the privilege of working for some of the toughest and best editors in this country - I read my old articles now and realise that I had never really learned how to build an argument. I simply went out wrote stuff. I represented people in profiles and features, never pausing for an instant to filter those representations through anything other than a raw, reporter's instinct. And sometimes, that's not enough to write a really good piece.
Also, this year, I learned that those in industry scoff at the the academy and those in the industry sniff at practitioners. To be reductionist, the attitudes go like this: "Those who can't, teach" (industry) and "They are just ignorant hacks" (academy). There is some truth in both both views.
As a practitioner turned "hackademic" - a term I have been cautioned not to use, ever - I confess to many instances of private (and not so private) eye-rolling during my year as a mature Honours student. I questioned - and still question - the relevance of much of the dated literature we were prescribed. And I do most earnestly believe that the lecturers and professors should experience, first hand, what it is like to be on the receiving end of both content and quantity of the combination of their academic programmes.
Additionally? Well, let's move on, people. I was fortunate to be semi-accepted into a younger world where the angst of whiteness, race, gender, and sexual orientation and so on are just, like, so not issues, like. They aren't just last season, they are last two decades and more ancient season, so why do we perpetuate these tired schisms in academia? Bored, bored, bored....as one (black, gay) class mate posted.
As to the second viewpoint, as a working journalist I always wondered what was so special about getting a degree in something that came so naturally to me; something I was taught as an apprentice, as a craft. Oh please, I thought. Degree? Pffft. Just get the story. Write it down. Sub it to the bone. Let the colour run. Check the facts. File it on time. And at all costs avoid annoying the tough, vloeking, brilliant, sub-editor called Fred. End of.
And then, about mid-way through the second semester, I got it. It's not really about Foucault, or Gramsci, or Hall, or any of the great names rolled out for us as the hallowed bedrock of media theory. It"s about understanding the responsibility of communicating. The theory is not just important for journalists, but citizen journalists - as we now all are. When any of us write posts on Facebook, or blog, or tweet; whenever any of us represent a situation, or an individual, we bear an enormous burden of responsibility. Just today I read about a young man murdered in East London because of a rumour started on Facebook This is the true burden of care I learned about: Stop and check your responsibility, before you represent a person or a situation anywhere.
Another reason I should not have been so lonely this year, is that there is so much to learn. We older people cannot but revel in the undiluted joy of fresh facts, fresh faces, fresh views, and the re-lived fear ahead of an assignment or exam. We are in it to win it, but for ourselves - not money, or career, or recognition. That is so liberating. Studying with people ten years younger (and more) than my youngest child wasn't only fun, it was philosophy. My class mates didn't speak to me really slowly. They gave me the gears as the classes unfolded. They didn't see my age as "worthy of respect" in the dirty business of intellectual debate. But they did accord me a great degree of love and encouragement, when I felt I was flagging. This year was not a face-lift, but a soul-lift, and I encourage anyone of retirement age, with academic aspiration to brave the waters. With the emphasis on brave.
(With thanks to Kangelani, Roxy, Chi Chi, Kayla, Jilly et al et al.et al - Hons Class of 2013. Respect.)
