I'm so sorry about what you're going through. If you want to list me as a reference, I'd be happy to tell anyone what a great teacher you are.
This was my repeated refrain yesterday as word trickled out about the latest round of faculty cuts. My words felt lame and useless, but what else could I say?
For the past three years we've gone through a repeating painful cycle: rumors of impending cuts, anguish among non-tenured faculty members in vulnerable positions, relief for those whose lines survive combined with distress over those who don't, and scrambling within departments to cover classes without sufficient staffing. Those who have gone through multiple cycles probably deserve combat pay to compensate for the emotional anguish they've endured.
But then this brutal cycle is piled on top of a whole host of lesser insults, from draconian budget cuts to Kafkaesque procedures for purchasing essential supplies to the loss of funding for faculty awards and prizes. I'd like to express my profound gratitude to the people who so generously provided letters supporting my nomination for the research prize this year, but I regret to inform you that no prizes will be distributed.
But it's petty to complain about a measly prize when I still have a job. My job will inevitably change going forward as cuts to faculty lines require us to shift the burden for certain classes, but I'm still gainfully employed doing something I usually love. Meanwhile, today a bunch of my colleagues are stumbling around looking stunned, suddenly feeling the ground slip from under their feet and wondering where they'll land. I want more than anything to lend some support, but frankly, I'm feeling a little wobbly myself.
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