Published in 1974 by the Newt Davidson Collective –named for the imaginary author of a satirical memo directed to Governor Nelson Rockefeller the previous fall– Crisis At CUNY offers a thorough accounting of the institution’s most immediate deficiencies, shortcomings, and outright failures. It diligently chronicles the history of American higher education with particular attention to the development of public universities as well as the very relevant (and recent) social and cultural activism on City University of New York’s own campuses. And, while quite obviously inspired by Marxism with respect to its distinctly anti-capitalist position and its repeated emphasis on racial and class inequity both on campus and within the city at large (not to mention the dedication to one “K.M”), it hardly aspires to be a manifesto. Instead, it largely operates as a well-researched and impassioned thesis, written in an acceptable academic vernacular.

Despite the absence of any definitive statements on future policy, which is perhaps intended given its criticism of the politicization of the university, it does culminate in a certain prescription, namely the elevation and integration of faculty and student unions and grassroots activism into those critical conversations concerning the evolution of the university. Moreover, it calls for analysis before action, affirming that financial necessity alone cannot (and should not) shape the future of the CUNY system, a conclusion that has been echoed time and again by educators and students alike.

That said, there are some very distinct formal and stylistic characteristics of Crisis at CUNY that warrant further reflection and investigation. While a response to the administration and not Academe itself, this text largely romanticizes the university’s history, citing eras in which institutions of higher learning were not ruled by administrators and their budget cuts or business and/or political relationships. Like Newfield and Veysey before him, it neglects to interrogate the challenges associated with an institution built on Western epistemologies and ways of knowing, namely Enlightenment ideologies, which wholly informed those economic policies and systems to which the Newt Davidson Collective was so resistant.

We had a very interesting conversation in class yesterday about Chancellor Albert Bowker: What were his intentions? What were his beliefs? Why did he pursue the policies he did? I’ve posted on the Group site a 1987 interview with Bowker, conducted by a Mathematics journal, which has a few pages (480-82) dealing with several of these questions related to CUNY (the rest of the interview is about other phases of his career).

Given that all of you will be presenting your CUS research projects orally to the class on April 17th in 15 minute segments (10 for presentations; 5 for questions/suggestions), I’d like each you to write up a brief (2-3 page) research memo on the subject you plan to do your final research paper on. This memo should include indications of the primary and secondary sources you hope/expect to use to construct your argument. I would like you to submit that short descriptions no later than the end of the week of April 1 – 5. I will give you fast feedback on your research memos and you can incorporate those suggestions and ideas into your oral presentations on April 17th. We can talk more about this in class next week.

All: Like a total idiot I left my bag containing my only copy of the Kim Phillips-Fein book on the bus today. I don’t know that I’ll be able to get another copy of the book to scan the chapter on Hostos in time for class next week. Assuming that I won’t, please review instead the documents on the struggle to keep Hostos open on the CDHA site: http://cdha.cuny.edu/collections/show/172. There are 65 documents in the Save Hostos Collection. I don’t expect you to read them all, but at least review a dozen of them to get a sense of what happened.

In addition to the “receipts” discourse necessary to the dissertation’s genre, Molloy’s effort to disentangle “access” from “instruction” meshes obviously well with some of the other issues our course has considered. We’ve thus far spoken a lot about admissions as a gatekeeping mechanism—one, to be sure, Molloy says drove much of CUNY’s midcentury changes. It seems to me—and this is the first time I’ve thought this thought, so I’m not sure if it’s (1) particularly good or (2) particularly novel—that posing the admissions question/threshold/barrier/whatever in terms of “standards met” means we’re missing a key potential indicator of college success—one that’s probably more valuable a heuristic than SAT scores, grades, class rank, or recommendations combined: intention (or “will,” or “motivation,” or “drive” or whatever you want to call it).

This thought occurred to me most clearly for the first time during Molloy’s discussion of Berger, Ballard, and Sohmer’s review of “eligible candidates” (68) for the early SEEK program. This passage specifically prompts my point:

On June 14, 1965, Levy reported a large “reservoir” of applicants, from which he expected to find one hundred “qualified students” […]. But the several hundred applications received through CUNY’s admission processing centers produced only a few dozen acceptable candidates. “The rest could not qualify by any standards we contemplated” (Levy & Berger, 1965, November, p. 19). Instead, Ballard, Berger and Sohmer recruited students through community agencies […]. These efforts produced 500 more applicants, “half or so of which had to be rejected on economic grounds. […] From the remaining pool of about 250 qualifying students, Berger, Ballard, and Sohmer […] selected the first class of 113 students[.] (67-68)

Presumably, hopeful matriculants who submitted applications but “could not qualify by any standards [the board] contemplated” (67) had some intention to go to college. (If they didn’t, they wouldn’t have submitted applications in the first place!) But while the “““standards””” discourse is, as Molloy argues, “a respectable proxy argument for resistance to integration” (85), motivation and intention can’t be similarly argued away.

In a previous blog post, I gestured towards the obfuscatory role the “““standards””” thesis takes in order to point towards an irony: Columbia’s earlier precedent “““standards””” argument prefaces our own age’s opaque admissions “complexities.” As our readings clearly show, CUNY history is not without its own ironies: what was once an institutional refuge for the Jews Columbia rejected is now in this midcentury moment reinscribing the wrongs its beginnings sought to address and remit. The “elite delusion of superiority” (44) Molloy seizes on in these chapters is born from exactly the same gatekeeping attitude that motivated Columbia’s own racist practices.

Through Berger, Molloy suggests we ought to disentangle traditional metrics of “““merit””” from a student’s “innate ability” (94). This is a notion that’s obviously useful. But what I’d like to push is this question of “ability”: even if we reject “standards” arguments more generally, doesn’t focusing on “innate ability” reinscribe “ability” as a standard of its own? In other words: if we set “ability” as a “standard” of sorts, one that admissions criteria attempt somehow to quantify—even if it’s amorphous or difficult to measure—doesn’t that mean we’re missing altogether the question of motivation? Attributing motivation and commitment to academic study only based on the fact that a student has submitted an application might be too flimsy a pretext. But is this flimsiness altogether a bad thing? Such a flimsiness doesn’t necessarily amount to an open admissions policy, though at first glance it appears that it might. If we read the admissions office as the primary mouthpiece for institutional policy and direction, then wouldn’t fixing motivation as the only or the most significant admissions criteria be a more “““honest”””—honest, I mean, to CUNY’s own history (or perhaps: histories)? And if we evaluate “““merit””” or “““achievement””” by any other “standard” than that of motivation, what does it betray about our own purposes and aims?

The SEEK program was clearly an improvement. But I wonder: what happens when we commit to this apparently radical reorientation (from “ability” to “motivation”)? And is such a reorientation all that radical? In the etymological sense, yes: insofar as motivation is something shared among all potential applicants, it’s the most “radical” or foundational shared attribute. But in a more colloquial sense it’s not necessarily all that radical, especially when we recall CUNY’s ostensible mandate—as an institution of higher learning funded by, dedicated to, and helping alongside the city and all her various inhabitants.

[Finally, a provoking editorial: New York spits out all her unmotivated children; hers is a brutal language of implicit “standards” and “merit.” We ought not to underestimate the extent to which intention, aspiration, and will play in achieving these “standards” or meeting these designations of “merit.” She’s not a meritocracy, to be sure—far from it. But we might want her to be one—but only on the condition that she not sacrifice her primary currency, which driven ambition. It’s only fitting, then, that her university system prize ambition—insofar as submitting an application indicates commitment—as the only suitable “““standard.”””]

For several reasons, I really enjoyed reading Savonick’s (2018) dissertation. I felt most inspired by Chapter 4 – “This Class Has Something to Teach America.” Savonick describes the work of several teacher-poets who are also activists including the notable Toni Cade Bambara, June Jordan, Audre Lorde, and Adrienne Rich. All of these teacher-poets taught in the Search for Education, Elevation, and Knowledge (SEEK) program at program CUNY in the 1960s and 1970s.  In Chapter 4, Savonick specifically describes the teaching style and impact of June Jordan, who had a “vision of social change [that] was founded on a belief that everyone had something to contribute to the production of a more just, equitable, and pleasurable world, and that classrooms were one site for discovering what that might entail” (p. 237). Savonick highlights that Jordan’s pedagogy approach preceded Paolo Friere’s popular book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by at least one year. Upon learning this surprising fact, I found that my respect for Jordan increased even more. I mean, just think. Even as we approach 2020, Jordan’s pedagogy approach can still be seen as pretty dorn radical for many administrators and faculty in higher education. I could only imagine how radical her approach appeared during the 1960s and 1970s, not just at CUNY but also at other schools where she taught at like Yale University, Sarah Lawrence College, UC-Berkley, and SUNY’s Stony Brook. For example, Savonick describes how “students in Jordan’s class sat in a circle, voted on decisions about class readings and procedures, and collectively established the criteria for evaluating each other’s poetry. Students participated ‘fully and equally’ in decision-making processes in the classroom and on campus” (p. 210). As might be expected, Jordan had some doubters and haters who were not completely on board with her approach. However, as a Black woman in the academy, I’m sure negative directives were not new to Jordan, unfortunately. One detractor questioned why more than 40% of students in one of Jordan’s class received an A or A-. It seems completely absurd there was so much emphasis and concern about the grades that students were receiving instead of a focus on what their learning experience was inside and outside of the classroom, as a result of Jordan’s teaching style. It reminds me that higher education should really be less focused on grading, and more on teaching and learning. I also loved, loved, loved that Jordan held close to the belief that instructors and scholars aren’t always right in their beliefs and assumptions. Rather, students have insights that are also worth exploring and valuing – particularly Black and Puerto Rican students who are often excluded or deemed as underperformers. As conveyed by Savonick, Jordan “taught students that their voices, stories, and actions mattered for social change; in short, that each student ‘had something to teach America’” (p. 209). Although many won’t admit it, that’s pretty radical, even in this era.

As I read about Jordan and the other teacher-poets who were also activists, there were a few things that kept popping up in my head. For example, I kept thinking about how did these teacher-poets stay inspired and motivated to keep going in the face of opposition and institutional bureaucracy? I also questioned the impact on their health and wellness to keep going and pushing forward for these progressive teacher-poets. For example, did any of them suffer from burn out or depression? Did they have collective groups to support each other? Often times, we trace the public facing progress of individuals without considering their private lives and struggles. I think those areas are worth exploring, too.

Professor Brier’s discussion of the CUNY Digital History Archives (CDHA) is a succinct retelling of the history and development of CUNY, buttressed by three important references and uses of the archive: the founding of Medgar Evers College, the inception and legacy of SEEK, and the introduction of Open Admissions at CUNY. The piece was written to promote the work of the archive and invite pedagogues to use the archive within their courses when they are inclined to incorporate serious scholarship of the history of our university system.

I am immediately provoked to ask where my CUNY alma mater stands in the development of its own digital archive—Macaulay Honors College. Though the institution is barely legal, there is a story to tell of privilege, access, tension and reputable success. There was a student group who formed a Macaulay General Assembly, wrote on the quality of access that Macaulay students receive in context with their classmates, and presented at a conference. I wonder if that could be incorporated in the 2010 – Present time period.

The collections present on the CDHA present a wealth of archival work that I had not considered when thinking of the university, even critically. For one, the criteria for President of “Community College No. 7” aka Medgar Evers College, possessed a number of interestingly alarming physical and experiential traits (what in the world is urban-orientation?) used to secure its president. One that struck me was residence—that the president was willing to reside in community, meaning Bedford-Stuyvesant. Now that we are fifty years away from this, what would it mean for faculty and administration to live in close proximity to the university.

Another striking image from the Medgar Evers collection involves a demonstration in Albany in 1976. There’s an individual standing with a poster that reads, “Don’t let them assassinate Medgar Evers again! Keep alive the only four-year college in our community!!” This is a powerful illustration that complements Brier’s contributions to CUNY’s snuggles in light of the fiscal crisis.

The last image I will share is much lighter. It’s a letter addressed by former CLAGS president Martin Duberman to Audre Lorde. Now we read Lorde, Walker, and Rich as canonical, so it’s astounding to see them referenced here.

In this chapter of Sheila Gordon’s dissertation on the history of CUNY the “battles” for open free tuition, open admission and control over higher education in NYC are laid out through an analysis of the role politics and politicians played in the period following WWII and more particularly throughout the 1960s into early 1970s. This perspective presents an integration of the chronology of NYC Mayors, Governors and other important political figures woven into the narrative of events. I found it particularly interesting that in certain parts somebody like Bowker is described almost affectionately- with admiration and respect. He is presented as a hero-like figure with mentioning of his social justice values and his negotiating abilities. I wonder if this is related to him being perceived as someone with a lot of charisma as he is described to have been able to connect with people across racial and class lines and this having served him in the long run in having support for his agendas.

I found the way communities positioned themselves in favor or against free tuition and/or open admission were interesting as another example of the way race and class have been used to divide communities who are in search of opportunities to climb the economic ladder. There is a section in which the imagery used to play into the divisions between “city dwellers” and “upstaters” is made so clear and is so relevant today. While all the while there is an element of wanting to present an image of NYC as a place which embraces those in need and offers opportunities for their dreams.   The belief in a free market and values around individual responsibility and meritocracy show up time and time again. Although this was not something new I found it interesting to see that despite centuries of affirmative action in favor of those who came to be white- at moments when the opportunity arose for some sort of reparative process in by which communities of color could have been given access to higher education which may have positioned them at a temporary advantage over their white counterparts- this was considered inconceivable.

In this political analysis I found it helpful for the main issues to be clearly identified and laid out to include: internal power struggles, an ongoing battle between the City and State, emergent social and ethnic conflicts, increasing number of student applicants, a financial crisis, and the ongoing debate about the purpose and mission of the university.  Being that these issues seem to be embedded in the workings of a university system within our political context- I wonder if any of these have a “solution”, “resolution” or will only be addressed with a radical transformation of how we conceptualize of higher education in the first place.

Similarly- the student demands again resonated so clearly with current demands being made by student organizers calling for increased representation of people of color and trainings; this can be disheartening and again raises the question of how much can this system be reformed into achieving equity if it has been so intricately built on advantages and disadvantages for so long. One point listed on the demands by students in 1969-1970 during the debate over open admissions which I had picked up on before was the requirement for Education students to take classes in Black and Puerto Rican studies and classes in Spanish- this I wonder if this was reflective of the make-up of the student activists being students in the field of Education?

Hi, All. Just a heads up that Danica Savonick, one of the authors of this week’s readings on SEEK, will be joining us via Skype for the first half hour of our class. She’ll say something about her research and dissertation and then I’m hoping you all will come in with questions to ask her about the chapters you read. She does have to leave to teach her own seminar at 4:40, so we have to start promptly at 4:15. See you Weds. afternoon.

While CUNY’s free tuition policy didn’t end until 1976, during New York City’s fiscal crisis, pressures to eliminate free tuition existed long before. Tahir Butt (n.d.) argues November of 1965 marked a turbulent period for CUNY and its struggle to remain tuition free. According to the 1965 headline from the New York Times, the CUNY Chancellor, Albert Bowker, and several other senior leadership staff in CUNY resigned after disputing with New York City’s Board of Higher Education about whether to charge students a tuition fee of $400. Faced with the increased demands for enrollment into CUNY’s tuition-free schools that were nearing capacity, Bowker and his colleagues reasoned imposing a $400 tuition fee on students as a logical solution. According to Butt (n.d.) and other scholars, many of these new applicants to CUNY resulted from the  “spike” of high school graduates  from the postwar Baby Boom.  The substantial migration of Puerto Rican and Southern Black people to New York City, who were merely seeking social mobility and the opportunity to take advantage of higher education, also contributed to CUNY’s unpreparedness to expand and accept more students without a $400 admission fee.

Many of those who were in favor of CUNY remaining tuition-free, frequently referenced the tuition-free history of The Free Academy, founded in 1847 by Townsend Harris, who stated during the opening: “Open the doors to all—Let the children of the rich and the poor take their seats together and know of no distinction save that of industry, good conduct and intellect.”  The Free Academy and the municipal colleges of Hunter, Brooklyn and Queens were consolidated into the newly established CUNY by Governor Rockefeller with the Education Law of 1961.  While tuition remained free (albeit some students still paid fees) for 129 years, one should not ignore the difference in the racial/ethnic  demographics of students who were enrolled in CUNY before the tuition imposition (predominately White students) and the parallel timing of CUNY’s end to free tuition after the large influx of Black and Puerto Rican students. While some scholars may posit race was not a factor, I would argue that given the racists history of the United States and the countless examples of efforts to oppress people of color, how could race not have been a factor?

Sure, Governor Rockefeller had been attempting to impose tuition on CUNY since 1961. By this time, he had already successfully imposed a $400 tuition fee on all SUNY schools, and he had financial dreams of doing the same thing for CUNY. However, according to Butt (n.d.) and other scholars, he faced opposition from the working class and their political defenders. Considering the Civil Rights Act didn’t pass until 1965, I’m doubtful that the working class that politicians were protecting were people of color. Sure, they were poor. But, being poor and a person of color (read: Black or Puerto Rican) during the 1960s and 1970s had to have been a “double-jeopardy.” While I found Butt’s analysis to be interesting, I was disappointed that no racial/ethnic data was provided in his analysis to provide more context for the policy changes. As a Black woman reading any sort of historical data, I’m always thinking of the place and experience of Black people, and other people of color. For example, when I read there was “merit-based free tuition” before the 1970s or that CUNY sought to combat its limited space issue by denying acceptance to whomever did not have an A- average, I immediately thought of how many of those applicants were Black or Puerto Rican and low-income. Those students who were denied entrance or forced to pay tuition because they weren’t “merit worthy” may have had just as much potential as those who were admitted. I’d be interested in learning more about the whole groups of people who were excluded because they could not afford the “instructional-fees” charged to evening and non-matriculated students or those who didn’t meet the academic requirements for acceptance . For example, what was the quality of K-12 schools they attended? What social determinants or barriers to academic success did they encounter? If they were not able to afford tuition, how likely was it in the 1960s that they were able to obtain loans to finance their education? Many of these applicants missed out on the “golden age” of higher education. In turn, the exclusion of these students with “instructional-fee” requirements or flat out rejection can also be viewed as CUNY missing out. Gloria Ladson-Billings describes it best when she questions, “how can the full range of scholarship be explored if whole groups of people are systematically excluded from participating in the process of knowledge and production?”

Perhaps CUNY missed out on the “golden age” in higher education in other ways, too. For example, CUNY (formerly the Free Academy) missed out on the benefits of The Morrill Land Grand Acts of 1862 and 1890 when funds that were reserved for establishing public education for NY were received by Cornell University. As well, efforts by Columbia University’s leadership to thwart the growth of City College and the other municipal colleges of Brooklyn, Queens and Hunter should not be ignored. Butt (n.d.) observes, “Instead of a full-scale university, Butler [president of Columbia University from 1901 to 1943] pushed instead for a smaller branch of City College as a way to avoid posing a threat to Columbia.” Finally, CUNY also missed out on the “golden age” since Governor Rockefeller was more interested in the expansion and promotion of SUNY. However, some would argue that CUNY really missed out on the “golden age” since CUNY took too long to charge tuition to all of its students; the lack of tuition fees being charged at all CUNY schools prevented an accelerated growth.