Ode To A Dream
E. A. Uddin Khan

From an early age I knew that my niche in life would be in the thought provoking world of academia. As a child in grade school I admired all my teachers. In high school it was the same. Even in university I fell in love three or four times per semester with almost every professor who lectured, young or old, male or female. My teachers knew everything - they were demigods in the land of make believe. In those years I dreamed of becoming a lecturer in front of a roomful of bright, challenging, eager students. In the succeeding years I worked like a race-horse to get good grades, to get into good schools, to get the good education I would need to become the lecturer I dreamed of becoming. My preparation explored all possible options with the help and guidance of caring teachers. However, dreams like mine are built on romantic thoughts, for the reality of academia tells its own tales.
After six years of searching for that perfect professorship, my blood has cleansed itself of the quest for the impossible star and here is my ode for the childish dream that died a predictable death:

I left Columbia University in 1995 with a doctoral degree on some irrelevant topic - irrelevant because the subject I now teach is unrelated to the research I pursued. Since then I have sent out hundreds of resumes at a cost that can not be calculated in dollars because of the time, effort, material, postage, and net-working that went into the entire job-search project.

In return I have received hundreds of form letters acknowledging my credentials, and three interviews - interviews which I believe were granted to satisfy the minority/gender quota requirement of those particular institutions. The last resume I sent out was in April, 2000, and even though the outcome was predictable, I was still hoping for a miracle. I posted this final resume to W.C.C. on a "tip" from one of their faculty members with whom I had gone to Columbia. When my friend C.G. told me about the job he said, "You would be perfect for this position, you are more than qualified". However, after a few weeks I received the standard form letter which acknowledged my credentials and relegated me once again to the realm of the unwanted.

At the beginning of May C.G. informed me that Human Resources told him that they had a likely candidate for the position, recommended of course, by a member of the board of trustees. [It seems strange to me that the Board of Trustees knows and is related to so many qualified people always available to fill these highly qualified positions.]
I also have the distinct honour of being asked by a very distinguished professor at C. University not to submit my resume for a position in her department. She was the Chair and she had a white male protégé (with whom I had taken classes and did not think much of until I realized this little sap enjoyed favoured- person status in the department) to fill the gap. I had taken several classes with her; she knew the quality of my work and thought my resume impressive. However, she was not my godmother, rich aunt, or benefactor. And so the tale repeats itself.
In many ways, one must be thankful for the rude, faceless, and impersonal New York City Board of Education where it is still possible to get a teaching position regardless of race, religion, or gender. The problem with teaching at the high school level is that there are no intellectual challenges, no great debates, no problems left in the world to fix. In fact, one is regarded as a "show off" if one presumes to introduce a new theory or method on teaching, or worse, talk about a book one has read. The usual topic in teachers' lounges seems to be the "pension". On the bright side, as the years tick away, my service with the Board of Education is increasing, the pension is looking fatter, my ideas are drying up, and dreams of a professorship are slowly fading away.

At the high school and college (evening/adjunct) where I teach, people sometimes pick my brain about theory, method, and practice and then ask , "What are you doing here?" [Well, what am I doing here? I do have bills to pay like everyone else.] First, I relive the hurt that academia's rejection has inflicted on me, then I disregard the feeling of being unappreciated and unwanted by my questioners, and finally I put another Band-Aid on the wounds and continue to conduct free workshops on teacher education. Perhaps some day, some one on a democratic university campus will retire and I will get his tenured track position. Yes, this is what this essay is all about - waiting for an old white man to retire or die so I can fill his chair. I just hope I am still young enough to remember the ideas I dreamed of exploring with respected colleagues within the ivied halls of academia.

Am I bitter? Not really! It was at Columbia University, under the tutelage of some great professors that I, as an immigrant, learned about racism, prejudice, gender inequality, white male rule in the United States, immigrant bashing, nepotism versus merit, and the hierarchy and structure of the academe that decides who are allowed to enter and who are not [this was part of my doctoral research].
As an immigrant one soon learns that America is not as charitable, or as tolerant as it claims to be to the starving people on distant shores. On arrival here one soon realizes that this land of freedom and equality is really the white man's paradise. In 1990-92 I had some great conversations with Professor M. G. with whom I had taken a number of philosophy classes. I remember vividly making two statements to her, to which she smiled and wisely nodded her head. The first one was that America does not care about education or its intellectuals. It can import the brains that it needs, and intellectuals are certainly not needed to arouse the mental ennui that has settled in the heads of the masses of this rich country. Therefore, they are not wanted or respected in this society. In fact, the demise of intellectualism is perpetuated by the "system" that plans and implements education at all levels.

Second, that in years to come the people of the U.S. will be a hundred different colours, but a few old white men [Strom & Co.] will still be sitting in Washington, D.C. ruling this country - much the same as apartheid functioned in South Africa; and academia will still be closed to some of the brightest and the best. Today, almost ten years later, I have no reason to change my opinion.

Enough of that though - let me get back to my dream. The thought that constantly haunts me is that I have these dreams that will not go away. For example, I would like to put together an anthology of Islamic Philosophers [700 - Present (?)], but this is not the type of project one undertakes and develops outside the walls of the academe. One of my majors is philosophy. I read philosophy at SUNY Stony Brook, and at Columbia, and at neither institution was an Islamic philosopher ever mentioned. And yet with my cultural and religious background I knew that there existed over two dozens such thinkers. Philosophy is my passion. Over the years my curiosity has led me to read the Islamic thinkers, buy their books when available, and put a list together. I need to meet people who share an interest in this sort of thing, but how do I meet them in a high school where the main topic of conversation is either the "pension" or how deficient the students are.

This is one dream that I would dearly like to pursue - to chronicle the thoughts of people like Al Kindi, Al Ghazali, Averroes, Avicenna, to name a few, and document the development of Islamic Philosophy. Perhaps these dreams should remain dreams, but here is another one.
A forum for intellectual debate! Sounds challengingly wonderful, doesn't it? This is what I would like to create on a university campus - a hall of heroic ideas. A place where teachers and students, old and young, listener and learned, can meet - as in Baghdad, Cairo, Athens, Rome, Paris - to open the soul once again to the great thoughts that built the tomes that grace our fractured intellectual times.

One can go on and on, but my tale is the tale of many of my friends. Bright, energetic people with dreams they must curb, satisfaction they must find in different avenues. I really do not wish the old, white men any harm. My wish is simply to have my dream fulfilled - to teach in an academic institution: a place where knowledge means something. I worked very hard to prepare for one of the coveted places in the American academy. I think I am intelligent and very well educated. I have a lot to offer my students. I know I can do an excellent job. I also think that the realm of the intellectuals needs to be renewed - new blood, new thoughts, new challenges - at least every twenty-five years. My questions are: Why are the "so-called" intellectuals in the academe afraid to admit what is new and different? Why are the people "in control" in the United States afraid to educate the population? Why is an educated, colourful population such a threat to a system that is presumably free, democratic, and equal? Who is afraid? ... All I want is the chance to have the intellectual freedom of a twenty-first century thinker on a democratic university campus where I can challenge and be challenged by my equals. Alas! for the childish daydreams that we nurture and the adult nightmares we must wake from, and realize that the university system is inhabited by insecure people who are devouring the very core of our youth and thoughts.