Keep your head down
It began on my very first day as a tenure stream assistant professor. Just a month out of my postdoc, I traveled to work for my first day as a PI. I sat on the bus looking at the campus — I was so proud to be here and so very excited to have this job.
The red flags came hard and fast. As I smiled and waved into the offices of the men lining the hallways on that first day, none smiled back. Worse yet, there was almost complete silence for weeks after. No one greeted me. No one offered to help me get settled and learn the lay of the land. The realization that I had made a terrible mistake occurred by the end of my first week. How did I get here? How had I not seen the signs during my interviews and recruitment, when these same individuals smiled and enthusiastically offered to collaborate? What had changed?
I sought advice from external mentors, who encouraged me to “put my head down and keep going”. And that is exactly what I did. When the vice chair of the department, considered a distinguished member of the university faculty, called me a “pussy” in front of a room full of interviewing graduate students and faculty at a recruitment party because I refused to drink alcohol, I put my head down and kept going. When several male faculty referred to a female chair applicant in our department as a “cunt” in the hallway outside my office, I put my head down and kept going. When this same vice chair made references to the appearance and attractiveness of our female graduate students, I put my head down and kept going. Sadly, there are many more stories from these years that could be shared, all with very similar themes.
About three years after starting my position, I left my department and changed to another in the hope of escaping the offensive treatment that I had endured for several years. Once I left, I hardly thought of these early years, chalking them up to a toxic departmental culture.
Until ten years later, when I faced the realization that I might never be free from this type of treatment.
I had used my social media platform to point out that a large symposium being held on campus did not have sufficient representation of women. Within hours of my post, I received an email from the director of the large center hosting the event asking for my cell phone number so we could talk. I naively believed he might want my advice as to how to diversify such meetings in the future. When I answered his call, he immediately began shouting at me. I was told I would never be a leader. I was told that I was a liar. I was told that in order to diversify the symposium, they would have to sacrifice the quality of the science. The call lasted about 20 minutes and almost every second included him yelling at me and belittling me. Within an hour of that call, he contacted the chair of my department to share his concerns about my “problematic” behavior.
The armor that many assume is afforded by academic rank and/or institutional leadership roles provided no protection. I was a tenured full professor when this call took place and had several leadership roles in my department.
After the call, I contacted my institutional office for diversity. I shared with them a very detailed account of the call and the horribly vicious words that had been used against me. They were appropriately appalled and said they would investigate immediately. I was told they would contact the individual and demand some type of apology and corrective action. I do not know if these things ever occurred. After several follow up emails to the office to inquire about the outcome of their investigation, the replies eventually stopped. I never received an apology.
This was almost two years ago, and I think of this call often. It was this experience that ultimately led me to reflect on the lessons I learned during the almost fifteen years since that bus ride on my very first day. I would like to share some of what I learned with you.
I learned that my university was largely to blame for the behavior that occurred. Ultimately, the institution is responsible for creating an environment that allows abusive behavior to persist and often encourages it by creating leaders who are revered as demigods and who thus become untouchable. The upper ranks of my institution’s medical school leadership look exactly like the paintings of former notable members of the faculty that line its walls — almost all white men.
I also learned that the loyalty I had towards my institution was not reciprocated and that they cared more about protecting the egos of their male leaders than they did for creating a supportive environment for me.
Through these lessons, I came to the realization that I needed to leave my institution as it was unlikely it’s culture would change any time soon.
I was lucky to have survived these experiences and to be successful in the process. However, it did not come without a price. My mental health suffered at times and my love for a career in academic research was forever tainted. I will never regain the feeling I had on that first bus ride to start my faculty position — the pure love and excitement for the job I felt privileged to have.
My advice now is simple — do not put your head down and keep going. Instead, keep your head up and push to be treated with respect. Do not stop pushing until you get it. Reach out for help and if you do not feel able to advocate for yourself, find others who will do it for you. Social media platforms did not exist in my early days as a faculty member, but it is now clear that they facilitate access to various organizations and individuals who can help you and provide advice or guidance. More than anything else, please know that you do not deserve to be subjected to the type of treatment I was. It is never acceptable and it should never be tolerated by you or your institution.
~Anonymous
