We have a tendency to blame corporations, administrators, and professors for allowing universities to fall prey to corporate control and/or emulation. Certainly Jennifer Washburn's book University, Inc., parts of which were assigned for today's class, gives ample evidence that plenty of faculty members at Research I and Ivy League universities have happily played into the pockets of large biotech, pharmaceutical, and other companies. As recently reported by both The New York Times and NPR, Harvard recently launched an ethics review of faculty members' suspicious associations with pharmaceutical companies, culminating in the announcement that the school would be fortifying its conflict-of-interest policies in terms of articulation as well as enforcement.
What inspires hope in this situation is not just that a six-year fight actually generated enough buzz to bring about change but also that the protesters were students. The events at Harvard were instigated by medical students attending a lecture by a professor who was promoting a brand-name drug during class; these students became leery, investigated the instructor's background, and found that he had financial ties to the company producing the "advertised" drug. By circulating petitions, promoting awareness, forming committees, and generally organizing, students were able to enact a requirement that all lecturers disclose industry ties in their classes: these students were able to accomplish something no other leading medical school has.
By contrast, too many students display indifference and/or are complicit with the corporatization of academia that has diminished the quality of the educations they are supposed to be receiving. Take the students in our own seminar, for instance. Our university bookstore is owned by not an independent seller, as it was the first couple of years I was an undergrad here, but rather Barnes & Noble. When I ordered books for the course, I specifically requested paperbacks, naively believing that the store would search for used copies of these cheaper editions. When five out of the nine students brought their books to class today, one brought the paperback while the other four brought used hardback copies, which were the editions provided by our trusty B&N on-campus bookstore. As one student said, "at least they're used," yet what may not be clear is that the bookstore will often charge only a few dollars less for a used hardcover copy than the original publisher's list price for a new hardback, which is still quite a bit more expensive than even a new paperback of the same text. So the corporate-owned bookstore is costing students more money than was planned and than is necessary.
But when asked whether they knew how much these editions cost, the students did not recall, which is not surprising given that some students at the school probably just swallow the costs without so much as batting an eye while others might complain for a day or two but then resign themselves to having no other options (e.g., local used bookstores, online used booksellers, the reserve copies in the library, or interlibrary loans). It's only those (apparently few) students who come from lower-income families or who are paying their own way through school--students who come to Trinity on scholarships, loans, and other financial aid--who may truly feel the burden of those bookstore receipts months after the books are purchased. But then here's the real killer: when asked if anyone had actually read the assigned reading for the day, no one raised a hand (well, one student admitted to having done only part of the readings because he had not read the syllabus closely enough). So not only are students buying overpriced editions of their textbooks from the corporate university bookstore but also they are not even cracking open those overpriced books except when attempting to hide from the instructor when she calls on students to discuss the readings.
Why don't students bother to read for class? Obviously one might say that their priorities are elsewhere, whether that be other classes, extracurricular activities (however one wishes to interpret that wonderfully ambiguous phrase), family obligations, social commitments, etc. I think I was a fairly strong student as an undergraduate, and even I had trouble keeping up with sometimes as much as 1,000 pages of reading per week plus assignments, papers, exams, etc. (sorry, profs!), and I would spend weekends and holidays catching up on what I hadn't been able to read on time. But in terms of our particular seminar, I fear that this excuse also suggests that a course focused on the purpose, organization, and politics of the very institution in which they live and study--and to which they pay almost $40,000 a year--may lack real interest for the overwhelming majority of the enrolled particpants. Unlike the medical students at Harvard, these first-year undergrads appear unengaged with the material because they are under the deception that they are not immediately influenced by the forces they are asked to read and (halfheartedly) debate about--they do not feel inspired enough to act, or, perhaps, even if they can observe those factors at work around them, many simply seem not to care. It is often the case that professors will be much more excited about the subjects they teach than the students who take their courses, but it is especially disheartening to those of us who are trying to organize against the crisis of academia that such self-reflexive material fails to get under the skins of others who are negatively affected by the policies and structures of the corporate university. And this apathy on the part of students is just one reason (among many) that this corporatization maintains such a stronghold on American higher education and continues to precipitate its decline.
Of course, the other reason students may not read or otherwise complete requirements for any given course is that they (excuse the pun) buy into the notion that they are merely consumers of a product or service. They pay the school tuition, room and board, and other fees (not to mention the prices of those terribly expensive books), and the faculty and administrators become mere suppliers of the purchased goods. In this model, faculty--from well-paid tenured professors to sub-minimum-wage adjuncts--are expected to inculcate knowledge and teach skills while entertaining students (i.e., keeping the customers happy by providing customer service with a smile). But what responsibilities do consumers have to this academic corporation? Should students/customers not be expected to participate in the production of their own educations? And if faculty must shoulder the entire burden of education (i.e., they must teach without the concomitant expectation of active student learning), does this mean that instructors have transformed from civil servants to corporate drudges?
Finally, in my basic (and I mean basic) understanding of economics, the consumer's responsibility is to demand a high-quality good or service that is hopefully produced in an ethical manner. The medical students at Harvard demanded such and are successfully realizing these principles, but will informed, savvy, motivated undergraduates at public state universities, regional colleges, and private liberal arts colleges follow suit? Or will the complacency and resignation that currently plague many pro-corporate administrators and faculty also continue to infect the students whom they serve?
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