Look, I know as well as anyone that some teachers besmirch our profession by abusing tenure to remain employed even though they’re doing a poor job. We could all name a few of those. But I know they are not the norm. Yet the public and the legislature and the governor and the commissioner and the journalists seem to think they are the norm. They seem to think that we sit around and do nothing for four years, get our tenure, and then do even less—just to paraphrase our governor.
I’ll tell you what tenure is about. In my twelve years as a high school teacher, I was in one district. In that time, I had four superintendents and seven building principals. They were not all created equal.
Early in my career, the year I was up for tenure, I had a ridiculous run-in with a new principal over an issue I actually supported him on. I made the mistake at a faculty meeting of voicing my support, with a caveat. He wanted to extend senior privileges, and I believed this would be manageable if he and the assistant principal were better about disciplining the students we wrote up when they abused these privileges. I had the gall to suggest that we would support his tawaran if he would assure us of administrative support. I was not the most vocal or critical voice at that meeting, but I was the least senior. Colleagues came up to me afterwards and expressed incredible levels of concern because they knew I was not tenured yet. Honestly, I was surprised, till the next day when he accosted me in a hallway in front of students and went up one side of me and down the other, screaming, swearing, dropping f-bombs. I was speechless. Thank goodness we had a strong union president at the time, and she marched into his office and lit into him like a mother upbraiding her misbehaving son. In the end, he offered me a half-hearted and private apology, but I walked on egg shells the rest of the year because I was so scared he would find some excuse to get me. And with good reason.
The following year I was accused by a girl’s parents of sexually harassing her—because I was too explicit in the way I taught Romeo and Juliet. Basically, after reading Act I, scene i, I explained that a maid was not a cleaning lady but a young virgin. Long story short, they wrote a scathing letter and insisted that the principal put it in my file, which he was more than happy to oblige. Thankfully, I did have tenure by this time, and I still had the same union president. She insisted on a little more inquiry in the matter, and threatened a grievance. Turns out, the student had made no complaint, and in fact loved my class. The parents even admitted that their child had no idea they were making any complaints about me and would, in fact, be upset with them if she did. Furthermore, we were told that these parents belonged to a group that had been petitioning the state department of education to remove certain texts they found objectionable, and one of them was, of course, Romeo and Juliet. In light of this information, their attack on me now seemed part of a predetermined strategy. But were it not for tenure and my union president’s insistence on due process, that man would have gladly ruined my reputation and my career because he was still angry a year later about what he perceived as my insubordination on a minor issue.
So, maybe Governor Malloy and Commissioner Pryor’s intentions can be trusted, but not everyone else’s can. I tell my undergraduates all the time that tenure is not about job security. Tenure is about academic freedom. It is about being protected from petty administrators, vindictive parents, and politically ambitious members of boards of education. And it only takes one to ruin a career.
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