The University of Florida is considering a proposal that would give incoming students the option of taking classes during the spring and summer terms only, bypassing the fall semester, to ease the strain on its crowded facilities. Though most on campus seem to be in favor of providing an opportunity for nontraditional scheduling, a state law must be altered for the university to move ahead with the plan. Joseph Glover, the university’s provost, pitched the idea at a Florida Board of Governors meeting last week; he described it as a productive, efficient way to admit more students to a university for which there is high-demand. “U.F. is a large institution and, basically, in the fall semester the Gainesville campus is full to capacity,” Glover said. “We do have extra capacity in spring, after winter graduation, and lots of capacity in the summer. So the thought came to us, what’s so sacred about fall-spring? What if we offered our students the ability to be spring-summer? We see more and more students who are opting for innovative programs. I think there would be a market for students who would be interested in doing this for a variety of reasons.” ON THE WEB: In the midnight hour MORE FROM INSIDE HIGHER ED: School’s (NOT) out for the summer The idea is still in its nascent stages, but Glover imagines that the university would give applicants the option of stating their preference for fall-spring only, spring-summer only, or either up front. Students in spring-summer format would not be blocked from taking fall classes altogether, just courses in residence. In other words, students on this alternative schedule could do things like study abroad or enroll in distance education courses. This limitation would apply for the entire time these student spend at the university — and thus differs significantly from the way many colleges admit some first-year students for the spring semester, but those students are from then on enrolled on a standard schedule. This year, the university has nearly 6,400 first-time freshmen, and Glover notes that the incoming class size has remained relatively static for the past three years. If the spring-summer option is offered, he said the university would expand its incoming class by about 250 students who would take advantage of it, while maintaining the average 6,400 students in the traditional fall-spring model. Glover added, however, that the university is considering yet another option: limiting the spring-summer scheduling option to incoming transfer students only. In either case, student leaders on campus seem to appreciate the administration’s move to give them more control over their own scheduling. “I think it’s a great initiative to maintain enrollment from our students in these semesters where there seems to be a drop,” wrote Virlany Taboada, senior and treasurer of the Student Government, in an e-mail. “I’ve been a student that has gone to school fall, spring, and summer for my four years here and I can definitely say that taking classes in the summer has helped not only my [grade point average] but it’s a more relaxed environment that I think has contributed to my academic success. My hope would be that by having students not take classes in the fall we’ll see an increase in grade point average and perhaps a decrease in stress and anxiety levels.” Faculty leaders are also open to the idea. “It’s an innovative idea,” said Mary Ann Ferguson, chair of the Faculty Senate and professor in the university’s College of Journalism and Communications. “I’m glad to see the university is trying to better utilize our resources. I have some concerns about how that it’ll work with programs where students take an intro class in the fall and a more advanced class in the spring. Otherwise, I don’t see any serious downsides. I’m sure we’ll work through those issues.” As most university faculty members are nine-month employees, some would have to be encouraged to teach summer classes to help boost offerings for these students. Still, they would be paid on a supplemental contract for their extra work. “I suppose if faculty felt pressure to teach during the summer, there would be issues,” Ferguson said. “But I haven’t heard any strong resistance. We’re always able to find those willing to teach during the summer.” In order for the university to make this offer, however, it will have to ask the state legislature to change a statute. Current state law bars public institutions from requiring students who bring in at least nine credits of college credit upon entry — such as those from Advanced Placement or International Baccalaureate classes — to attend at least one summer term. At the University of Florida, “virtually all” freshmen bring at least nine credits with them. Without revoking this exemption, the university, technically, would not be able to require students who voluntarily select the spring-summer enrollment option to take summer courses. “We need to speed student progress toward graduation and maximize use of our facilities,” said Glover, who noted that officials from other state institutions at the board meeting noted their support for institutional control over their own summer term policies. “This change would enable us to create this program.” Kelly Layman, board spokeswoman, confirmed the board’s support of this push for legislative change. She said this, in addition to a rewording of board policy, would ensure that Florida students that have Bright Futures Scholarships — the state’s lottery-funded merit-based scholarship — would still receive funds if they took advantage of the spring-summer scheduling. Currently, those receiving these scholarships are not eligible for funds if they enroll in summer courses. “We need higher baccalaureate attainment in Florida,” Layman said. “If this helps increase that, then the Board of Governors is for it.”

ATLANTA — The oppressed conservative student is a regular theme in the right’s critique of higher education. You know the stories — mocked for displaying the American flag or a Ronald Reagan bust, shouted down for suggesting that that Iraq war is just, always in fear of earning a low grade for criticizing affirmative action or some other widely held belief among the left-leaning campus majority. Research presented here Tuesday at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association affirmed that many conservative students feel that way, but also that many do not — and that the latter group in fact thrive on the very campuses that tend to be portrayed as hostile to them. ON THE WEB: New view of faculty liberalism MORE FROM INSIDE HIGHER ED: The liberal (and moderating) professoriate The difference, the research suggests, isn’t the relative size of the conservative minority or the commitment level of the more liberal majority. Rather, campus characteristics — many of them most commonly associated with small liberal arts colleges, and harder to pull off at large universities — may be the determining factor. In fact, one suggestion from the research that might distress fiscal conservatives is that low student-faculty ratios may contribute far more to the comfort of conservative students than would efforts to promote ideological “balance” on a syllabus or in a department. The study presented here was conducted by Amy J. Binder, an associate professor of sociology at the University of California at San Diego, and Kate Wood, a graduate student there. They did in-depth interviews with conservative students at two colleges that they named only in general terms — “Eastern elite,” a small private institution, and “Western public,” a large university. Both are institutions that have been identified by conservative critics as being particularly left-leaning. At both institutions, they sought out as interview subjects the students who are members of conservative groups or who are visibly conservative, and also “in the closet” conservatives — by asking the conservative student leaders for the names of those who had indicated their agreement but who were not involved in public campus discourse. The conservative students at Eastern elite were under no illusions that they were anything but an extreme minority — and the institution’s reputation is such that some were discouraged by friends back home from even enrolling. But almost uniformly, they were happy. They identified their professors as being liberal, but admired them nonetheless. In fact, as Wood noted here, “they viewed the experience of being in the minority as a positive one” in teaching them to examine and defend their beliefs, and “almost every single one said that they received a better education” by being in the extreme minority, a finding “in contrast to the conservative critique.” Further, she said, “not a single one of them said that they regretted not going to a more conservative school.” The students at Eastern elite were clearly aware of the conservative critique and many times answered questions about possible bias by saying that they had heard about that elsewhere but had never experienced it themselves. At Western public, in contrast, many conservative students did feel that they were the victims of bias in interactions with students and faculty members. The research focuses on student perceptions, not the reality of what went on in the classrooms. So Wood said it wasn’t clear whether the bias actually took place, but she said that the researchers wanted to see why it was that some students perceived fairness and challenge, while others felt a bit abused. So what were the qualities that made some conservatives feel so contented, even in their minority status? They were many of the same qualities that elite liberal arts college advocates talk about. “They were proud of their institution. They saw their peers — liberals and conservatives — as future leaders of the country,” and that made the conservatives want to be part of the community and part of the conversation. They also felt that they had very close relationships with faculty members with whom they disagreed on politics. “They viewed their faculty members as professionals, as experts in their fields, as people who would never be biased” based on a student’s politics, Wood said. One key measure of the extent to which conservative students felt comfortable at the college, she said, was that the most popular majors for conservative students were identical to those for liberal students (and all students). There were a small number of courses that conservative students tended to avoid, Wood said, citing “critical gender studies” as one. She also noted that the college has policies that make it easy for students to change schedules at the beginning of the semester, and that this seemed to relieve any students who might be worried about a professor’s politics. It’s not that they left classes they signed up for, but the knowledge that they could try something and change their minds was reassuring, she said. Much of this related to “very small class size” and to a sense that all students and faculty members were part of a common community, and wanted to disagree with one another respectfully. As a result, Wood said, while the conservative students generally said that they didn’t hold back their views, they didn’t describe going to class looking for a fight — and they talked about wanting to disagree with professors in respectful ways, since they felt treated with respect. In contrast, she said, at Western public, with larger classes and much less faculty-student interaction on an individual basis, students were more likely to say that they were the victims of bias — but also that they didn’t really know the faculty members. And at Western, students talked about “trying to get in fights” with professors in class, of “trying to catch their professors in the act of liberal indoctrination.” Another difference Wood noted relates to the role of faculty members on both campuses who were in the conservative minority. In the close-knit environment of Eastern elite, these faculty members were visible on campus, taking part in the debates, organizing lectures and so forth. At Western public, she said, there was a similar cohort of right-leaning faculty members, but they were far less active. The implication of the findings, Wood said, was that colleges of all sizes should focus on the elements of community and civility that seem to make it possible for disagreement at Eastern elite to be welcome in ways that don’t belittle those in the ideological minority. She noted that some elements present at Eastern elite — such as its prestige and traditions — aren’t things that colleges can up and create. “But it’s clear that access to faculty members makes a huge difference, and that anything that creates smaller pools of students” — so that people know one another — has a real impact. Sarah S. Willie-LeBreton, associate professor of sociology at Swarthmore College, was the respondent to the paper, which she praised. She noted that much of the public discussion about conservative students focuses on incidents that take place at certain campuses or claims made by various groups. “It’s nice that somebody is finally asking the students themselves” in a comprehensive way, she said. For faculty members, the research is an appropriate challenge, Willie-LeBreton said, to “celebrate our conservative students’ sense of minority status and to think about what can be learned from that.” Willie-LeBreton said that Eastern elite sounded like it shared many values with Swarthmore, and that she thought that “taking all students seriously” was a big part of a faculty member’s job. But she said that she worried that in much of higher education today, “it’s hard for professors” to engage with students “when faculty members have been marginalized” through larger class sizes that hinder close student interaction.

The American Bar Association is moving ahead with changes in its accreditation system that faculty members fear could erode tenure protections for many professors and further weaken job security for clinical faculty members, many of whom don’t have tenure to start with. A special committee of the ABA last week released the latest version of proposed guidelines on academic freedom — just days before an ABA committee met Saturday to discuss (but not alter) the draft language. In the weeks before the draft was released, many faculty leaders had urged the ABA panel not to do the two key things its draft does: • Remove language from the ABA standards that has been interpreted by faculty members as requiring law schools to have a tenure system. (The ABA panel that wrote the revisions now says that tenure was never a requirement and that it is removing references to tenure for reasons of clarity — although that interpretation of current policy is being met with skepticism.) • Remove specific language requiring law schools with clinical professors and legal writing professors to offer them specific forms of job security short of tenure. The ABA panel recommending the changes has stressed that the accreditation requirements still insist that law schools protect academic freedom, and that many law schools would not necessarily change their tenure or other job protection procedures. The report accompanying the most recent draft characterizes the protections for clinical faculty members that would be eliminated as “intrusive mandates” that “are not the proper providence of an accreditation agency and provide approved law schools with latitude and flexibility to articulate and implement policies to attract a qualified faculty and protect faculty academic freedom.” OSU: Leader of USA’s biggest campus takes on tenure 2010: The year of the education documentary? ON THE WEB: Tenure as a tarnished brass ring Many law professors think otherwise. They are angry not only over the recommendations, but the fact that the new draft came out immediately after so many groups had issued lengthy statements in favor of preserving existing protections. “They are trying to ramrod through an ill-advised proposal,” said Michael A. Olivas, a professor of law at the University of Houston. The proposal is “the worst of all worlds, disguised as administrative tinkering.” Olivas is president-elect of the Association of American Law Schools, although he said he was speaking for himself, not the association. Many of the association’s leaders, however, share his concerns. In recent weeks — just before the ABA committee came out with its new draft — a series of impassioned letters were sent to the panel. Robert A. Gorman, an emeritus law professor at the University of Pennsylvania , wrote to the committee that tenure was particularly needed for law schools. “The research, scholarship and teaching of the law professoriate commonly deal with matters of public moment and controversy, more so than is the case in most other parts of the university; and the style of teaching is typically more challenging, argumentative and indeed on occasion confrontational,” Gorman wrote. “Reliance on tenure as a buttress for academic freedom is thus particularly justified for law faculty.” After Gorman’s letter circulated, another was sent endorsing it — by 11 other former AALS presidents, among them two former deans of the law school at the University of California at Berkeley and a former law dean at New York University ( John Sexton , currently the university’s president). The American Association of University Professors came out against changing the tenure protections. And the Clinical Legal Education Association has come out against the changes and the timing of the latest proposal. (Links to many of the letters opposing the changes can be found on the ABA site .) With all these legal luminaries opposed to change, why is it going forward? The push started several years ago, and was led by David Van Zandt, the dean of Northwestern University ‘s law school. Van Zandt said at the time that characterizing the changes as an assault on tenure was unfair. He said that it was wrong for the ABA as an accrediting group to require a tenure policy — and that institutions should decide such matters. “Sometimes some people portray this as an attack on tenure,” he said in 2007. “The real issue is whether or not you’re required to have tenure by an outside body such as the ABA. Not that we don’t want to have that institution.” After a period of some momentum, the move to change the standards stalled — but now is proceeding with the new draft. The current policies say that for a law school to be accredited it must have “an established and announced policy with respect to academic freedom and tenure….” That language would be replaced — under the new draft — with this: “A law school shall have an established and announced policy with respect to the protection of academic freedom of its faculty members and shall provide procedures to ensure that its policy is followed….” While the initial push to change the standards came from those saying that tenure was an inappropriate requirement, the new draft says that tenure was never really a requirement at all, so removing the reference to it doesn’t change things in a material way. “[T]he current standards do not require approved law schools to have systems for tenuring of any or all of their faculty members and this draft retains this feature,” the report says, adding that some have seen a tenure requirement as “implied” by the current language, but that this isn’t really the case. “Interests of greater clarity and transparency require that the revised standards explicitly state whether or not schools must provide tenure rights and for whom on the law faculty. So, this draft retains, explicitly, the current policy that tenure rights are not required as a matter of accreditation policy,” the report states. It notes that there are numerous references to the importance of academic freedom and its key role in legal education. While publicly the ABA leaders pushing for change say that they are not against tenure or law professors, supporters of tenure have noted a steady stream of criticism of law professors that emerges whenever the issue heats up. The National Jurist , a publication for law students, recently ran an article called ” When Law Profs Slack, the Students Suffer .” And that prompted coverage in a The Wall Street Journal blog: ” Are Law Professors Just Plain Lazy? ” Olivas said that he believes that a small group within the ABA leadership “just doesn’t believe in tenure” and wants to change the system. This is more than a little ironic, Olivas said, noting that ABA’s leaders include judges and law firm partners — two categories of people who themselves enjoy a kind of tenure, the latter “tenure with real money.” He said that the declarations of support for academic freedom are empty. “Academic freedom doesn’t anchor tenure. Tenure anchors academic freedom,” he said. So the panel is recommending that academic freedom be preserved while “undercutting” the very system that has protected it. Rights of clinical faculty Another key issue in the changes concerns the rights of faculty who may not be on the tenure track — in law schools, clinical and legal writing faculty members are most commonly in this category. Clinical law professors run programs in which students are supervised as they take on legal cases — frequently on controversial issues — and law schools are regularly attacked over the choice of such cases. Some lawmakers in Louisiana and Maryland pushed legislation this year to crack down on these legal clinics. In Maryland, a clinic at the University of Maryland offended the poultry industry by representing environmental groups. In Louisiana, the target was a law clinic at Tulane University that has done environmental work that angered business interests there. The language that the ABA panel wants to remove from the requirements says that law schools “shall afford to full time clinical faculty members a form of security of position reasonably similar to tenure, and non-compensatory perquisites reasonably similar to those provided other full time faculty members.” Gorman, the Penn professor, said in his letter that removing protections for clinical law professors was a move in the wrong direction. “Nor should it be necessary to explain that of all faculty categories, it has been the clinicians whose teaching — most especially, in the form of live-client litigation clinics — has placed them in the position that is most vulnerable to criticism and pressure (often of the most coarse and intolerable nature) from persons, corporations and legislators who are discomforted by the work of the clinic,” he wrote. “It is precisely the clinical faculty member for whom academic freedom is a vital concern and not merely an abstract slogan, and for whom tenure provides a crucial guarantee that instruction can be carried out in the best interests of our students, and of the public.” Olivas said he was bothered by the way the current standards let law schools place clinical and writing faculty in a separate class, with some protections but not the same as tenured faculty members. He criticized the ABA for moving to end the limited protections these non-tenure faculty members have, rather than moving them to an appropriate equal status with other professors. “There should be no bright line distinction between the two” kinds of faculty members, he said. “If clinical education and legal writing are appropriate parts of legal education, they should have the same protections, the same resources and the same faculty governance and all the academic freedom that is provided, including tenure. They need it more.” A spokeswoman for the ABA said that it would take at least 18 months, should various association panels endorse the changes, for them to take effect.

Since Michael Crow was named president of Arizona State University eight years ago, the university has increasingly organized itself with an eye toward attacking some of the world’s greatest challenges. Rather than divide an institution into academic departments – those are just “social constructs,” he’d argue – Crow has pushed for new cross-disciplinary organizational structures that are defined by the problems faculty seek to solve – reforming K-12 education, for instance – rather than the disciplines of those who will try to solve them. “The standard rigid model is ossified,” Crow says with something approaching disdain. The “rigid” structures that have come to define academe are targets for Crow, a much-watched university president who sounds as if he’d like to take a sledgehammer to the kinds of colleges and schools that exist at most institutions across the country, including, for the most part, Arizona State. Crow’s philosophy is playing out across the four campuses that comprise Arizona State, where nine traditional engineering departments were recently combined into five schools. The new groupings include the School for Engineering of Matter, Transport and Energy, which gobbled up the departments of aerospace, chemical, materials science and mechanical engineering. In so combining the disciplines, Arizona State officials argue they are forcing faculty out of silos and making them work together for the greater good. They concede, however, that there’s still not much evidence to suggest whether Arizona State is really transforming or merely rebranding. “I think it’s a very valid question,” says Paul Johnson, executive dean of the Ira A. Fulton Schools of Engineering. “And for somebody who wants the hard data and the objective study of whether we really did something different, we’re probably a couple of years away from that.” Other manifestations of Crow’s approach can be found in the School of Evolution and Social Change, which replaced the university’s anthropology department with an expanded home for mathematicians, political scientists, geographers and sociologists who are trying – to quote the school’s stated mission – “to discover not only who we were but where we are going and how we may alter our destiny.” The grand rhetoric that defines the School of Evolution and Social Change is mirrored in other new schools that have emerged during Crow’s tenure. The School of Earth and Space Exploration, for instance, describes itself as “dedicated to expanding the frontiers of knowledge through the exploration of Earth, space, matter, time and life.” The Crow years have been so transformative that the university’s chief research officer describes the time that predated Crow’s tenure as “the BC era” (Before Crow). “Sometimes you feel people have rhetoric but there isn’t substance to it,” says Sethuraman (Panch) Panchanathan, deputy vice president of the university’s office of knowledge enterprise development. “I was amazed by [Crow's] intellect, his passion, and it was very clear to me he meant what he said.” While “the jury is still out” on whether Arizona State’s approach will pay off, Panchanathan already sees some positive signs. He notes, for instance, that the university’s research expenditures have tripled under Crow, growing from about $120 million in 2001 to $370 million in 2010. In an era when many research universities saw huge gains, however, those figures still pale in comparison to the types of expenditures churned out by the nation’s foremost research workhorses, which are often presumed to be the institutions best poised to really solve the world’s most vexing problems. In a 2008 ranking of the top-20 universities by research expenditures, none fell below $580 million, the National Science Foundation reported. Approach not without risk If Arizona State’s model is to gain acceptance or adoration, there are plenty of questions left to answer. Does renaming departments and organizing around cross-disciplinary problems really produce better research or better students? Can a broadened curriculum be designed without skimping on depth? Can professors from different disciplines agree on expectations for a tenure candidate whose scholarship combines elements as various as computer science and dance? Charles Vest, president of the National Academy of Engineering, says the questions surrounding Arizona State’s approach are numerous and may be unanswered for some time. While the ideas are interesting, “It is an experiment,” he says. “There’s nothing that guarantees it’s going to work.” “I think they’re very idealistic, and they’re trying to make a radical shift, and they know it,” says Vest, former president of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). “They see [this approach] as a path to leapfrog, but it’s an experiment and it’s got a big risk.” The risk, Vest says, is that Arizona State will invest a lot of time, money and energy turning the academy on its head without producing tangible results, such as better research and the improved employability of students who are necessarily coming out of an experimental program. That said, the changes aren’t being dismissed as mere rebranding, Vest says. “I have not heard people talk about smoke and mirrors, and I think the reason is they’ve attracted enough clearly substantive people,” he says. “Does everybody assume this is the future and they’re going to be ahead of everybody else? No, I don’t think so.” In pursuit of “substantive people,” the university has mined traditional academic powerhouses to find leaders for its new programs. Kip Hodges, for instance, left MIT in 2006 to become the founding director of the School of Earth and Space Exploration. While Crow often defines Arizona State against traditional colleges – we don’t all have to be the same way, he often argues – Hodges says it’s not inconsistent that the university’s contrarian president still recruits talent from institutions that fit traditional standards of academic excellence. “It would be a better or more sustainable position, let’s say, to say that we don’t need the imprimatur, the blessing of those people at the other [traditionally elite research] universities,” Hodges says. “But what Michael’s trying to do – and everybody at the university is not Michael, of course – but what Michael is trying to say is you can play with the big boys and you can attract people from the big boys by doing things in a different way.” Hodges, who spent 23 years at MIT as a professor of earth, atmospheric and planetary sciences, says he struggled while there to bring scientists and engineers together in meaningful ways. He saw an opening, however, to do just that at Arizona State in a new school specifically designed for such collaboration. Indeed, Hodges came on with none-too-uncertain orders to recruit faculty – lots of them – from multiple disciplines, including astrophysics, cosmology, earth and space education, earth system science, planetary science and systems engineering. “I thought it was a really radically new way to look at things, and I was convinced enough of that that I drank the Kool-Aid and came to ASU at that point,” he says. The very fact that Arizona State lacks the elite status of a place like MIT may actually be an advantage when trying to do something different, Hodges says. “Turning a big successful university like MIT is a little like turning the Queen Mary,” he says. “It’s very difficult to get people to play in that possibility space.” That’s not to say, however, that a lot of universities of varying size and research status don’t encourage cross-disciplinary research, often through the establishment of centers and institutes. Indeed, it’s hard to find one that doesn’t. What’s different about Arizona State, however, is the degree to which the university has embraced the notion that new organizational structures may be necessary to break down silos. Students and faculty at many institutions, for instance, would likely scoff at the idea that departments needed to be killed off to encourage professors to work together. Pamela Matson, dean of Stanford University’s School of Earth Sciences, says she’s been impressed by the manner in which Arizona State has gone all-in on a systematic restructuring in service to transdisciplinary research and teaching. “They are going after this at a scale and rate that is beyond what most universities are doing, and that’s partly because they have the leadership of the university president,” says Matson, who is on an advisory board for Arizona State’s Global Institute of Sustainability. While Matson sees innovation at Arizona State, she’s not ready to anoint the university as the lone trailblazer in a pack of otherwise stagnant institutions. In the area of sustainability, for instance, Matson counts Stanford, the University of Minnesota and the University of California at Berkeley as other truly innovative institutions that have harnessed the talents of faculty from disparate disciplines in pursuit of common goals. “[Arizona State has] gone further out probably than other universities in sort of challenging the structure of the university to do this,” says Matson, a professor of environmental studies at Stanford and a senior fellow in the Woods Institute for the Environment. “On the other hand, I think there are a lot of ways of doing this that might have the same levels of success.” Crow was viewed by many as an innovator before he ever came on the scene at Arizona State, but his lofty ideas have historically had mixed success. As executive vice provost of Columbia University , Crow played an instrumental role in ushering in a much-ballyhooed project called Fathom. The for-profit online learning platform, which was designed to sell Columbia faculty lectures to the public, cost the university millions before financial difficulties proved its undoing. Crow was also a key supporter of “Biosphere 2,” a giant Columbia-supported terrarium that became the butt of jokes and even inspired a a Pauly Shore movie. The university abandoned its involvement with the project in 2003. Humanities find place in mix When Crow waxes philosophical about Arizona State’s grand plans, he often expresses a desire to “make the sciences less boring.” To that end, Crow’s stump speech is often more about going to space or building cool stuff to save the world than it is about the mechanics behind it. This reporter, for instance, has never heard him mention calculus. That said, the sciences in general are often front and center for Crow, raising another question: Where do the humanities fit into this experiment? To hear it from faculty, the humanities actually fit pretty well within Crow’s vision. The university’s Department of English — yes, it’s still a “department” — is hiring faculty and reducing student/faculty ratios. There’s also a recently developed School of Historical, Philosophical and Religious Studies that aims to “mold global citizens with democratic values.” If the humanities aren’t always on the tip of Crow’s tongue, it doesn’t mean they don’t have a place in his heart, says Sally L. Kitch, founding director of the Institute for Humanities Research. “No, I don’t think he does [talk about the humanities as much]. Can he be reminded? Yes,” says Kitch, a professor of women and gender studies. “I see a lot of my role [as keeping] the humanities in his purview. But I think his juices got flowing around what he sees in the sciences, and he continues to see that more easily.” Neal A. Lester, chair of the Department of English, agrees that his department has not been left behind while the sciences are growing. That said, he is sensitive to the frequent proclamation that departments are, by their very nature, fossils of a bygone era. That kind of thinking fails to capture that English professors have long worked across disciplines, well before schools became the hot trend in Arizona, Lester says. Indeed, Lester says he recalls once telling an administrator his concerns about quotations in a local news story that seemed to imply the schools were “more progressive” than the rest of the campus. “I’m hoping people aren’t perceiving that schools are something more cutting-edge than a department,” Lester says. Finances a motivation, too For all of the talk about a collective mission at Arizona State, there’s no doubt that budget cuts have a place in conversations about combining or eliminating departments. The university’s state budget has been cut by about $105 million or 20% since 2008. While tenure and tenure-track faculty positions have been protected, the university has eliminated 1,210 positions, of which 713 were layoffs. Richard Stanley, senior vice president and university planner, says the reorganizations have led to hundreds of positions being eliminated. Multiple administrative units that once governed history, religious studies, philosophy and three colleges of education, to name a few examples, have been crammed into single interdisciplinary units with fewer staff, he says. That said, Stanley and others argue that finances weren’t the core motivation for most of the reorganizations. “We haven’t put together any units that don’t make sense just for finding administrative savings,” he says. Many of the new units, however, are counting on growing — not just sustaining their numbers. Stanley says hiring will continue, even if it happens at a slower pace than administrators envisioned years ago. Tenure criteria being hammered out Even for those who have embraced Arizona State’s emphasis on breaking down traditional departmental structures and reorganizing in ways that promote interdisciplinary problem solving, there are still plenty of practical hurdles left to cross. If the focus of the institution is changing, should not the criteria for tenure as well? That’s become an increasingly perplexing question across the university, and there’s still considerable debate about how to best address it. “It’s been the most difficult part of my job to make that work effectively,” Hodges says. As would be expected, professors from varied disciplines bring different expertise and different expectations to a tenure debate. The School of Earth and Space Exploration is home to both earth scientists and astrophysicists, and “there are real culture differences between those two,” Hodges says. While earth scientists might complete one postdoctoral position for two years before landing a junior faculty position, astrophysicists often do two or three “postdocs” before they reach the same point on the faculty ladder. Consequently, an astrophysicist is likely to have a much longer record of publications than someone coming out of earth science. In a truly interdisciplinary school, however, professors from both disciplines would naturally evaluate each other for the awarding of tenure. Helping professors understand and respect the differing expectations of foreign disciplines remains a work in progress, as does reaching common ground on how those differences should inform scholarly expectations for the awarding of tenure, Hodges says. “It’s a difficult cultural shift with some people, I am sure,” he says. “I don’t mean to imply that every single faculty member we have has no problem with this brave new world. They are skeptical, and they have a long history of academia that’s on their side.” That long history also includes a mutual understanding of what departments and disciplines mean. So what happens when those boundaries disappear? Will a graduate of a nebulous new program be able to convince more traditional colleagues that he has the chops to hang with the best and brightest in his field? Johnson concedes that some faculty starting their careers in the Fulton Schools of Engineering are asking that very question. “What I have heard is some of the junior faculty will talk to their adviser at another school who will say ‘I don’t know what’s going on because you no longer are part of an identifiable structure,’ ” Johnson says. “The fact that we don’t have something called a chemical engineering department, someone might say ‘It must not be important there.’ ” But doing away with departments has not meant doing away with degrees. The Fulton Schools still offer all of the ABET-accredited programs they did before reorganizing, because “We felt that it was important for our engineering graduates to have identities and qualit[ies] that are recognized by employers,” Johnson wrote in an e-mail. What has changed, however, is an increasing emphasis on creating new “concentrations” within the traditional degree programs. A student working toward a civil engineering degree, for instance, might now also have a concentration in “sustainable engineering.” A hallmark of the new approach in engineering is developing curriculums that will encourage students and faculty to help confront a series of “grand challenges” laid out by the National Academy of Engineering. Those challenges include, among others, making solar energy more economical and providing access to clean water. The approach in engineering is mirrored in the Mary Lou Fulton Teachers College, which is working to establish itself as a force for improving teacher preparedness. That mission has been buoyed by a nearly $19 million gift from T. Denny Sanford , a South Dakota philanthropist and University of Minnesota alumnus. Sanford’s donation created a partnership between Arizona State and Teach for America , which recruits recent college graduates to teach in urban schools for a minimum of two years. “TFA makes teaching a profession of choice, and that’s exactly what it should be,” says Mary Koerner, the college’s dean. “Our motto should be, ‘If you can’t get into teaching, become a lawyer.’ ” The partnership with TFA, however, may highlight one of the vulnerabilities to Arizona State’s stated desire to solve complex problems: There may be more than one way to solve them. While TFA is not without fervent supporters, critics have charged that it infuses city schools with inexperienced teachers, who work for only a short time at entry-level salaries – squeezing out their more experienced counterparts. TFA officials and school administrators who hire TFA alumni dispute that characterization, but its critics persist. “TFA isn’t telling us what to do and they’re not going to dictate our academic program,” Koerner says. “I think one of the reasons faculty have not rebelled against this is that we are looking together at how this makes sense for our college. Nothing will be prescribed.” If faculty are increasingly receptive to new directions – Koerner’s college has been reorganized twice in the last year – it’s no doubt attributable in part to the fact that a critical mass of new professors have come into the institution knowing full well that Arizona State is trying to be a different kind of place. In other words, Crow is building an army of believers one professor at a time, and boy, is he hiring. Indeed, the university raised about $59 million for faculty hiring during Crow’s first seven years as president. “People are attracted to ASU because they want to do this kind of work,” Koerner says. “I don’t think we’d tap someone on the shoulder and say ‘You know, I think you’re not relevant anymore.’ I think if someone felt irrelevant they would probably leave.” Those who have bought into Crow’s vision are a special lot, Koerner says, willing to work in a place where they know things could change drastically at a moment’s notice. “Having an opportunity to define this place is pretty seductive for a lot of people; it is for me,” she says. “What do you have to give up? This is a pretty dynamic place; you have to be able to live with ambiguity.”