Stagnation vs. freedom: an open letter on tenure

Dear Tom Hamilton,
I've wanted to write you a fan letter for years: your voice is the soundtrack of my summer, your radio play-by-play bringing the excitement of Cleveland Indians right into our home day after day throughout the long baseball season. I admire the enthusiasm and depth of information enlivening your analysis; I owe you a debt of gratitude for everything you've taught me about baseball. Now, though, it's time for me to teach you a thing or two about a topic dear to my heart.

Yesterday you were complaining about a certain umpire's lack of accuracy in calling balls and strikes, and you made a flippant comment about people who manage to keep their jobs long after they've ceased to perform them with proficiency--"like a tenured professor."

Ouch.

I realize that equating tenure with stagnation is so commonplace as to be a cliche, and, like most cliches, this one has some basis in truth. I'm sure we can all name teachers who slow or stop their development after achieving tenure, but if we tried, we could also name people in many other professions who simply phone it in after reaching a certain plateau of achievement. I'm sure you could think of sports broadcasters who have simply stopped trying after long service, but I don't see you ever doing that so let's not paint an entire profession with the same broad brush.

Where I teach, I'd be hard pressed to name a single tenured professor who does not give value for money; on the contrary, I can name dozens who keep innovating and expanding their skills throughout their teaching careers. Some may change focus after tenure, pouring more energy into teaching and service and less into research and publication, but as a general rule, I don't see my colleagues simply giving up on growth.

I'm tire of the cliche that associates tenure with stagnation. For me and my colleagues, what tenure truly means is freedom.

Here's an example: a colleague and I were talking this summer about how tenure and promotion have empowered us to take more risks in research and writing. Before this year I'd never had the guts to send an article to the top journal in my field, relying instead on "safe" publications where I could be reasonably sure of acceptance. Now that I no longer need to officially prove my worth, though, I'm willing to aim higher without fearing the impact of rejection. My colleague concurred: she's editing a collection of essays on a topic she wouldn't have tackled before tenure and promotion. Far from stagnating, we're stretching ourselves into new areas of research and writing, free to pursue our passions in scholarship and in teaching without fear that someone might look over our shoulders and tsk in disapproval.

The same is true in the classroom: I see tenured professors taking risks with new methods of pedagogy, new technology, new ways to structure curricula. Tenure feels like a stamp of approval: the institution trusts me to make learning happen, so I can take risks and try new methods--and if it doesn't work, I can try something else without fear of finding myself suddenly jobless.

Who benefits from this system? Students--who can take classes from seasoned professors authorized to keep innovating, freed to pursue the most effective ways to promote learning and expand their areas of expertise. Tenure makes academic freedom possible, and while it may also tempt some few faculty members to settle into stagnation, they are the exception rather than the rule.

So thanks, Tom, for all the pleasure you bring into my life, for your great knowledge of baseball and insight into the subtleties of the game. You have a great eye for balls and strikes, but on the topic of tenure, I'm afraid you've struck out.