Michael B.

Paulsen
Editor

Higher
Education:
Handbook
of Theory
and Research
Volume 33

123
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory
and Research

Volume XXXIII
The Series Editor:

Michael B. Paulsen, Ph.D., Department of Educational Policy and Leadership Studies,

N491 Lindquist Center, The University of Iowa, Iowa City, IA 52242-1529, USA,
[email protected]

The Associate Editors:

Nicholas A. Bowman, Ph.D., Department of Educational Policy and Leadership Studies,

N491 Lindquist Center, The University of Iowa, Iowa City, IA 52242-1529, USA,
[email protected]
(College Students)
John M. Braxton, Ph.D., Department of Leadership, Policy & Organization, Payne Hall,
Peabody #514, 230 Appleton Place, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, TN 37203-5721, USA,
[email protected]
(College Faculty)
Stephen L. DesJardins, Ph.D., School of Education, #2108D SEB, 610 E. University Avenue,
The University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1259, USA, [email protected]
(Research Methodology)
Linda Eisenmann, Ph.D., Office of the Provost, Wheaton College, 26 E. Main Street, Norton,
MA 02766, USA, [email protected]
(History and Philosophy)
Linda Serra Hagedorn, Ph.D., Department of Educational Leadership Studies, Iowa State
University, N243 Lagomarcino Hall, Ames, IA 50011, USA, [email protected]
(Community Colleges)
Adrianna Kezar, Ph.D., Rossier School of Education, 3470 Trousdale Parkway, WPH 701,
University of Southern California, Los Angeles, CA 90089, USA, [email protected]
(Organization and Administration)
Anne-Marie Nuñez, Ph.D., Department of Educational Studies, 310F Ramseyer Hall,
29 W. Woodruff Avenue, The Ohio State University, Columbus, OH 43210, USA,
[email protected]
(Diversity Issues)
Laura W. Perna, Ph.D., Graduate School of Education, University of Pennsylvania, 3700
Walnut Street, Philadelphia, PA 19104, USA, [email protected]
(Policy)
Raymond D. Perry, Ph.D., Department of Psychology, 404 Duff Roblin Building, The
University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada R3T 2N2, [email protected]
(Curriculum and Instruction)
Marvin A. Titus, Ph.D., Department of Counseling, Higher Education & Special Education
Benjamin Bldg., 2200, University of Maryland, College Park, MD 20742, USA,
[email protected]
(Finance and Economics)

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/6028

Michael B. Paulsen
Editor

Higher Education: Handbook

of Theory and Research
Published under the Sponsorship of the
Association for Institutional Research (AIR)
and the Association for the Study of Higher
Education (ASHE)

Volume 33
Editor
Michael B. Paulsen
Department of Educational Policy
and Leadership Studies
N491 Lindquist Center
University of Iowa
Iowa City, IA, USA

ISSN 0882-4126 ISSN 2215-1664 (electronic)

Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research
ISBN 978-3-319-72489-8 ISBN 978-3-319-72490-4 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018932333

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Contents

1 Intellectual Autobiography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Sheila Slaughter
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation
of Diversity Research Toward Racial Equity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Uma M. Jayakumar, Liliana M. Garces, and Julie J. Park
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning
Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
John M. Braxton, Clay H. Francis, Jenna W. Kramer,
and Christopher R. Marsicano
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer
Issues in Higher Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Karen Graves
5 Reassessing the Two-Year Sector’s Role in the Amelioration
of a Persistent Socioeconomic Gap: A Proposed Analytical
Framework for the Study of Community College Effects
in the Big and Geocoded Data and Quasi-Experimental Era . . . . . . 175
Manuel S. González Canché
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Joseph C. Hermanowicz
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher
Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295
Awilda Rodriguez, Fernando Furquim, and Stephen L. DesJardins
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education . . . . 371
Robert K. Toutkoushian and Jason C. Lee

v
vi Contents

9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher

Education: A Focus on Diversity in Student Affairs and
Admissions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 417
Leah Hakkola and Rebecca Ropers-Huilman
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research
and Reform . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 469
Shanna Smith Jaggars and Susan Bickerstaff
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study
of Higher Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 505
Leslie D. Gonzales, Dana Kanhai, and Kayon Hall

Author Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 561

Subject Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 579

Contents of Previous Volume . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 591

Contributors

Susan Bickerstaff Community College Research Center, Teachers College,

Columbia University, New York, NY, USA
John M. Braxton Policy and Organizations, Peabody College of Vanderbilt
University, Nashville, TN, USA
Stephen L. DesJardins Center for the Study of Higher and Postsecondary
Education, School of Education, Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy, University
of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA
Clay H. Francis Upper School Faculty, Hutchison School, Memphis, TN, USA
Fernando Furquim Center for the Study of Higher and Postsecondary Education,
School of Education, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA
Liliana M. Garces Department of Educational Leadership and Policy, The
University of Texas at Austin, Austin, TX, USA
Leslie D. Gonzales College of Education, Education Administration Department,
Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI, USA
Manuel S. González Canché University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA, USA
Karen Graves Department of Education, Denison University, Granville, OH, USA
Leah Hakkola School of Educational Leadership, Higher Education, and Human
Development, University of Maine, Orono, ME, USA
Kayon Hall College of Education, Education Administration Department,
Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI, USA
Joseph C. Hermanowicz Department of Sociology, The University of Georgia,
Athens, GA, USA
Shanna Smith Jaggars Community College Research Center, Teachers College,
Columbia University, New York, NY, USA

vii
viii Contributors

Uma M. Jayakumar Higher Education and Policy, Graduate School of Education,

University of California, Riverside, Riverside, CA, USA
Dana Kanhai College of Education, Education Administration Department,
Michigan State University, East Lansing, MI, USA
Jenna W. Kramer Leadership and Policy Studies, Vanderbilt University,
Nashville, TN, USA
Jason C. Lee Institute of Higher Education, University of Georgia, Athens, GA,
USA
Christopher R. Marsicano Leadership and Policy Studies, Vanderbilt University,
Nashville, TN, USA
Julie J. Park Department of Counseling, Higher Education, and Special Education,
University of Maryland, College Park, MD, USA
Awilda Rodriguez Center for the Study of Higher and Postsecondary Education,
School of Education, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA
Rebecca Ropers-Huilman Faculty and Academic Affairs, Department of
Organizational Leadership, Policy, and Development, University of Minnesota,
Minneapolis, MN, USA
Sheila Slaughter Louise McBee Professor of Higher Education, Institute of Higher
Education, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA
Robert K. Toutkoushian Institute of Higher Education, University of Georgia,
Athens, GA, USA
About the Authors

Susan Bickerstaff is a senior research associate at CCRC, where her research

focuses on faculty instructional professional development as well as on programs
designed to support academically underprepared students. Bickerstaff holds a PhD in
reading, writing, and literacy from the University of Pennsylvania. Her dissertation
focused on the experiences of adolescents at an urban community college.
Bickerstaff holds a BA in community health from Brown University and an MS in
education from Drexel University. She previously worked as a coordinator at a
community-based adult education program, served as a research assistant on studies
in family literacy, and taught qualitative methods courses at Rutgers Graduate
School of Education.

John M. Braxton is a professor of Leadership, Policy and Organization Emeritus

of the Higher Education Leadership and Policy Program at Peabody College of
Vanderbilt University. Within his study of the professoriate, Braxton centers
attention on faculty performance of Boyer’s four domains of scholarship. His
publications focused on this topic including the following: Institutionalizing a
Broder View of Scholarship through Boyer’s Four Domains with William Luckey
and Patricia Helland (2002). Edited publications include Analyzing Faculty Work
and Rewards: Using Boyer’s Four Domains of Scholarship (2006) and Scholarship
Reconsidered: Priorities of the Professoriate: A 25th Anniversary Edition co-edited
with Drew Moser and Todd Ream (2015).

Stephen L. DesJardins is a professor at the Center for the Study of Higher and
Postsecondary Education, School of Education, and a professor at the Gerald R. Ford
School of Public Policy at the University of Michigan. His teaching and research
interests include postsecondary education policy, strategic enrollment management
issues, research methodology, and the economics of higher education. His work in
these areas has been published in higher education and economics journals and in
previous volumes of Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research.

ix
x About the Authors

Clay H. Francis graduated from Vanderbilt University with an MS in educational

leadership and policy studies. Before joining Peabody, Clay taught in a variety of
settings, including a boarding school, an all-girls independent school, and a high-
needs school here in Nashville. His passion for higher education stems from his time
as a mentor and faculty in residence for first-generation college students at Middle
Tennessee State University. Clay has a master of environmental law and policy from
Vermont Law School and a bachelor’s degree in political science and Spanish from
Middle Tennessee State University.

Fernando Furquim is a PhD candidate at the Center for the Study of Higher and
Postsecondary Education at the University of Michigan and a fellow in the Institute
of Education Sciences Predoctoral Training Program in Causal Inference. He holds a
BA in economics and political science from Macalester College, a master’s degree in
economics and policy analysis from DePaul University, and a master’s degree in
higher education from the University of Michigan. His research centers on three
areas: higher education over the life course, accountability in postsecondary educa-
tion, and the intersections of higher education, labor market, and social welfare
policies.

Liliana M. Garces is an associate professor in the Department of Educational

Leadership and Policy at the University of Texas at Austin and Affiliate Faculty at
the University of Texas School of Law. Her research focuses on the dynamics of law
and educational policy; it examines access, diversity, and equity policies for under-
served populations in higher education and the use and influence of research in law.
Her publications include various peer-reviewed articles in journals such as the
American Educational Research Journal, American Journal of Education, Educa-
tional Researcher, Journal of Higher Education, and The Review of Higher Educa-
tion. She has also published two co-edited books.

Leslie D. Gonzales is an associate professor at Michigan State University.

Gonzales’s research focuses on (a) legitimacy within academia, (b) relations of
power that govern the recognition of knowledge and knowers, and (c) the possibility
of agency among academics. Gonzales is committed to exposing and challenging
both material and symbolic injustices within academia, particularly in the careers of
historically underrepresented scholars. Gonzales earned her academic degrees at
New Mexico Highlands University and University of Texas at El Paso.

Manuel S. González Canché uses cutting edge econometric, quasi-experimental,

geospatial, and network analysis methods to understand structural factors that
influence minority and at-risk students’ likelihood of success. He aims to identify
plans of action capable of closing socioeconomic gaps resulting from students’
reduced access to financial, academic, and social resources. His research is driven
by the desire to offer better and more nuanced understandings of the effect of
location, influence, and competition on access, persistence, and success in higher
About the Authors xi

education. He is working toward the development of an identification framework

designed to prevent failure using predictive analytics and counterfactual notions.

Karen Graves is a professor and chair of the Department of Education at Denison

University. A past president of the History of Education Society (the United States)
and former vice president of Division F: History and Historiography of the American
Educational Research Association (AERA), Graves was honored with the Queer
Studies Special Interest Group Body of Work Award by AERA in 2015. Her
research addresses twentieth-century schooling in the United States with a focus
on gender and sexuality and legal policies concerning education. She is currently
working on a history of the gay rights movement in the American Baptist tradition.

Leah Hakkola is an assistant professor in the Department of Educational Leader-

ship, Higher Education and Human Development at the University of Maine.
Hakkola graduated from the University of Minnesota with a PhD in organizational
leadership, policy, and development in 2015. Her current research examines how
local, national, and global discourses about diversity are developed and conveyed to
students in higher education. Hakkola’s scholarship is guided by a passion to work
as a scholar and practitioner, focusing on how discourses about difference are shaped
and informed by educational policies and practices. Leah serves on the University of
Maine’s Provost’s Council for Advancing Women Faculty and for the Rising Tide
Center.

Kayon Hall is a doctoral student and graduate assistant in Michigan State

University’s Higher, Adult, and Lifelong Education program. Her research utilizes
critical epistemologies to examine race, immigration, and popular culture in the
context of higher education. Prior to coming to Michigan State University, she
worked in higher education for eight years. In her most recent role, she served as
the associate director in Career Planning at a Liberal Arts School, where she assisted
students with internships, experiential learning, and life after graduation. Kayon has
a bachelor’s degree in Marketing and an MBA.

Joseph C. Hermanowicz is a professor of sociology and adjunct professor in the

Institute of Higher Education at the University of Georgia. His interests focus on
organizational sociology of higher education in studies of academic careers, pro-
fessions, students, and universities. He is the author of Lives in Science: How
Institutions Affect Academic Careers (University of Chicago Press, 2009), The
Stars Are Not Enough: Scientists—Their Passions and Professions (University of
Chicago Press, 1998), and College Attrition at American Research Universities:
Comparative Case Studies (Agathon, 2003) and editor of The American Academic
Profession: Transformation in Contemporary Higher Education (Johns Hopkins
University Press, 2011), as well as articles in Minerva, Journal of Higher Education;
Research in the Sociology of Organizations; Higher Education; Social Studies of
Science; Science, Technology, and Human Values; and other journals.
xii About the Authors

Shanna Smith Jaggars is the director of Student Success Research for the Office of
Distance Education and E-Learning at the Ohio State University and a research
affiliate at the Community College Research Center (CCRC), Teachers College,
Columbia University. Previously, she was the assistant director of CCRC, where her
research focused on online learning, developmental education, curricular and trans-
fer pathways, and institutional improvement. Together with Thomas Bailey and
Davis Jenkins, she is the author of Redesigning America’s Community Colleges: A
Clearer Path to Student Success (Harvard University Press, 2015).

Uma M. Jayakumar is an associate professor of higher education and policy at the

University of California, Riverside. Her scholarship examines racial diversity,
equity, and resistance in higher education, with a focus on how organizational
environments and practices shape access, experiences, race relations, and educa-
tional outcomes. Her research has been published in journals such as The Harvard
Educational Review, Educational Researcher, Sociological Perspectives, and Jour-
nal of Higher Education and was cited across numerous amicus briefs in Fisher I and
Fisher II. Her work has been generously supported by the National Center for
Institutional Diversity, the National Academy of Education, the Ford Foundation,
and the Spencer Foundation, most recently through the 2016–2017 Spencer Foun-
dation Midcareer Grant.

Dana Kanhai is a PhD student and research assistant in Michigan State

University’s Higher, Adult, and Lifelong Education program. She has an MS in
clinical/counseling psychology from Valdosta State University. Dana has over
10 years working experience in psychological counseling and human resource
development in the oil and gas sector. Her research interests include international
engagement, leadership and mentoring, and faculty development. Her current
research explores the use of critical theory in the study of international students,
scholars, and their families in US higher education.

Jenna W. Kramer is a PhD student studying higher education policy in the

Department of Leadership, Policy, and Organizations at Vanderbilt University.
Her research focuses on institutional and governmental policies that contribute to
student access and persistence in higher education. She examines student success in
transitions into and through higher education, as well as workforce outcomes. Prior
to coming to Vanderbilt, Kramer worked as a college counselor at a charter high
school in Boston. Her work with students to bolster readiness for the college
application and decision-making processes informs her research agenda and advis-
ing practice as an educator.

Jason C. Lee is a doctoral candidate in the Institute of Higher Education at the

University of Georgia. He is currently employed by the Tennessee Higher Education
Commission as the lottery scholarship and financial aid research director. His
research interests include postsecondary finance and student financial aid.
About the Authors xiii

Christopher R. Marsicano is a PhD candidate studying higher education policy in

the Department of Leadership, Policy, and Organizations at Vanderbilt University.
His research interests include higher education policy and finance, politics and
public opinion as related to higher education, and civic engagement. He examines
higher education institutions as political actors and the outcomes associated with
their attempts to impact the political process. Marsicano earned a master of public
policy degree from Duke University and his bachelor’s degree with honors in
political science from Davidson College. He has worked at multiple institutions in
admissions, financial aid, development, federal relations, and student life.

Julie J. Park is an associate professor in the Department of Counseling, Higher

Education, and Special Education at the University of Maryland, College Park. Her
research addresses how race, religion, and social class affect diversity and equity in
higher education, including the diverse experiences of Asian American college
students. She is currently the principal investigator on a project funded by the
National Science Foundation exploring social ties and social capital networks among
STEM undergraduates. She is the author of When Diversity Drops: Race, Religion,
and Affirmative Action in Higher Education (Rutgers University Press, 2013)..

Awilda Rodriguez is an assistant professor at the Center for the Study of Higher
and Postsecondary Education. Her research is at the intersection of higher education
policy, college access and choice, and the representation of Black, Latino,
low-income and first-generation students in postsecondary education. Her most
recent project examines issues of equity in access to rigorous high school
coursework. Rodriguez’s work has been published in Research in Higher Education,
Educational Policy, Diverse Issues in Higher Education, and The Chronicle of
Higher Education.

Rebecca Ropers-Huilman is a professor in the Department of Organizational

Leadership, Policy, and Development, vice provost for Faculty and Academic
Affairs, and an affiliate of the Gender, Women & Sexuality Studies Program at the
University of Minnesota. In 2014, she was Fulbright-Klagenfurt visiting professor
in Higher Education Research in Vienna. She has also been actively involved in
faculty governance and served as the chair of the Faculty Governance Executive
Body during the 2014–2015 academic year. She has published four books and more
than 50 scholarly works related to equity, diversity, and change in higher education
contexts worldwide.

Sheila Slaughter is a Louise McBee professor of higher education in the Institute of

Higher Education at the University of Georgia. Professor Slaughter’s scholarship
concentrates on the relationship between knowledge and power as it plays out in
higher education policy at the state, federal, and global levels. She is the author or
coauthor of 4 refereed books, 34 refereed articles, 25 book chapters, 11 edited books
or special journal issues, and 3 monographs. She has published in all of the leading
xiv About the Authors

journals of higher education including the Review of Higher Education, the Journal
of Higher Education, and Higher Education, as well as in major journals outside the
field, ranging from sociology to science and technology studies. Her most recent
book is Academic Capitalism and the New Economy: Markets, State and Higher
Education (w/G. Rhoades). Professor Slaughter served as the president of ASHE and
received the ASHE and AERA lifetime research awards (http://ihe.uga.edu/people/
profiles/faculty/core/sheila-slaughter).

Robert K. Toutkoushian is a professor of higher education in the Institute of

Higher Education at the University of Georgia. He specializes in the application of
economics and statistics to a wide range of problems and issues in higher education.
Topics on which he has written include higher education finances, student demand
for higher education, and faculty compensation. In addition to his faculty appoint-
ment, Professor Toutkoushian serves as the editor of the journal Research in Higher
Education.
Chapter 1
Intellectual Autobiography

Sheila Slaughter

My childhood was idyllic. I grew up in a suburb just over the Chicago line, and lived
a Father Knows Best sort of life, although Mom didn’t wear heels when she
vacuumed. Nor did she ever talk about politics. In contrast, my father was an
outspoken Goldwater Republican. Nonetheless, Dad saved us from1950s confor-
mity. He had grown up on a cattle ranch in South Dakota, and even though he
became a physician, he thought every child should have a farm or a ranch. So, we
spent time with my grandparents in the West, and on a farm Dad owned near Aurora,
Illinois. My brother and sister and I rode ornery horses, shot our 22’s at whatever we
could hit, chased each other across barn rafters high above the stable floor, and drove
the 4-wheel drive vehicle into unimaginable of hazards, even though we had
difficulty reaching the clutch. We were shockingly, deliciously unsupervised.
When at home in suburbia, I devoured books. They were the door in the
wardrobe, the portal to other worlds. Our town library was one of my favorite places.
It was in a building that looked like a large mock-Tudor mansion, on a street over
which stately elms formed a canopy. On a summer day, I frequently rode my bike to
the library, selected five or six books from the children’s section in the basement,
then climbed up the wide stairway to the main library and settled into a leather chair
in front of the fireplace, which, in winter even had a fire, and spent hours reading. I
didn’t separate what I read from what I did. When our mothers drove me and my
friends to the usual set of 1950s summer and after school activities, I told stories
loosely tied to what I’d read, and had my friends hanging on every word, disap-
pointed when we reached our destination. In the manner of the characters of Louisa
May Alcott’s Little Women, I often instigated amateur theatricals and was frequently
the author, director, and star of the dramas we created and performed in various

S. Slaughter (*)
Louise McBee Professor of Higher Education, Institute of Higher Education, University of
Georgia, Athens, GA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 1

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_1
2 S. Slaughter

living rooms. Another endeavor was an authors’ club that several friends and I
started, where we wrote and shared our first short stories. I was certain I was going to
be the great American novelist.
Then came Catholic girls high school, complete with nuns in habits, girls in
uniforms, strict discipline, endless detention and a deadly dull curriculum. My
parents had encouraged me to pursue my own intellectual agenda, never told me
there were things I couldn’t or shouldn’t read, even allowing Gone with the Wind and
Forever Amber in the 5th grade, very risqué for the 1950s. In contrast, in high school
we read one play or book a year and spent lots of time diagramming sentences. Maria
Goretti, a young Italian girl, up for the first stage of saint hood, was held up to us as a
heroine because she chose death rather than sexual congress. In the school audito-
rium we saw—in bad black and white—documentary type films of her and in the
lunch room heard scratchy recordings of her purported encounters with the brute,
complete with screams. The book in my junior year was Mill on the Floss, in which
George Eliot has Maggie Tulliver drown rather than find happiness by choosing
between the two inappropriate men she loves, another lesson in virtue for all of us.
At some level, I understood the primary purpose of our education was to teach us
to become highly conventional, conservative and constrained Catholic wives and
mothers. Mutinously, I avoided homework and read books that spoke to me:
Maugham, Green, Mauriac, Kafka, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Camus, Sartre.
I loved Shirley Jackson, knew Catcher in the Rye by heart, and when I read Jack
Kerouac, Lawrence Fherlinghetti, and Allen Ginsberg, I knew I was a beatnik, and
began to wear lots of black, along with pale lipstick, and increased my clandestine
number of daily cigarettes.
Most of my friends did not share my reading list, but they were kindred spirits
who chafed at rules and regulations aimed at keeping us on a straight and narrow
path that led away from adventure and excitement. During the first year of high
school, we identified each other. In the second year, we started a girl gang, the
Cellmates—indicating what we thought of our school—and on the first day of
classes our sophomore year walked in as a group wearing over our uniforms brand
new red hoodies emblazoned with our gang’s name. These were promptly confis-
cated, we were given days of double detention, and the nuns issued new rules against
irregular garments. None of it stopped us from pushing social boundaries. I never
would have made in through high school at all without my girl friends.
Such behavior did not endear me to the nuns, especially after I became a vocal
atheist. In one class, Sister Philomena asked us what people wanted most. My fellow
students gave the usual answers—love, children, happiness. I listened contemptu-
ously, because I knew. When Sister called on me, I said what drove the lives of men
was the search for power and immortality. Sister moved quickly to the next student.
I posed a problem for the nuns. I had terrible grades, but was a national merit
finalist, because I tested well due to my endless reading. Thus, they couldn’t stick me
in the class for dummies, by and large populated by the Italian working class girls
who were tracked there because they didn’t fit the school profile. The nuns had to
reckon with me and didn’t make it easy—I was suspended for smoking in the
bathroom and sharing my flask with my friends at the father-daughter dance. The
1 Intellectual Autobiography 3

suspension of which I was proudest occurred after I had just completed Leon Uris’
Exodus. I was taking a history class with a lay teacher who had fled from Hungary
after the failed revolution. She made casual but obviously anti-Semitic remarks in
her discussion of Eastern Europe. Of course, I accused her of this in class, and,
although the principal knew I was right and told me so, she still suspended me yet
another time, in this case on grounds of insubordination, illustrating once again the
hierarchy of values in Catholic school.
Everyone was expected to go to college, preferably a small, safe Catholic girls’
college, very like our high school. However, the nuns frequently told me I would
never go to college because of my bad grades and behavior. But I knew I would. I
always did well on standardized tests, and in the early 1960s, if you could fill out an
application, you got in. Of course, I wanted to go to someplace like Columbia and
live in the Village, but my parents told me I could do that for graduate school.
Catholic girls’ college first.
I didn’t even last the first semester—I fled Loretta Heights before Thanksgiving,
hitch-hiking to California with a friend to find the beats at City Lights Book Store
and the Long Beach coffee houses. Such beats as were left were not interested in a
couple of unbelievably naïve escapees from Catholic girls’ college, so I wrote a bad
check and flew home. To keep me off the streets, my father sent me to the Jesuits at
Loyola in Chicago. However, I was suspended for questioning the idea that sex was
only for procreation, as the priest insisted in the required Christian marriage class. I
followed the good fathers’ plan for re-instatement—a compulsory retreat—because I
wanted to go to Loyola in Rome for my junior year. I adored Rome, and was having
a grand time touring Italy with my new found friends, but was expelled when I was
caught coming up the dormitory steps after staying out all night with a fellow
student. Needless to say, he was not expelled. Another lesson learned.
My father had been a professor in the University of Wisconsin medical school,
and came to my rescue once more, pulling strings so I was admitted as a second
semester junior. In 1967, Wisconsin seemed like the world I had been so desperately
seeking. As support for the Civil Rights Movement grew and protests against the
Vietnam War expanded, everything having to do with in loco parentis was dropped.
Instead a compulsory dress code that featured skirts for women, everyone wore blue
jeans and army surplus jackets. Women’s dormitories no longer had hours, visitation
was no longer confined to common rooms, where each member of a necking couple
had to have at least one foot on the floor. Men appeared in bathrooms and bedrooms
and often stayed the night. Rather than yes ma’am, no ma’am, thank you ma’am, it
was obligatory to say “fuck.”
My two roommates were unlike the women at Catholic college: one was a Jewish
woman from New York, the other a black woman from Chicago. When I told my
parents about them, tripping over the words on the telephone, I was so excited, they
asked me if I wanted to move. I was dumbfounded. These were the most interesting
people I had ever met, and I was supposed to move? I had never thought of my
parents as racist. However, we had been so enmeshed in our suburban Catholic
community that the question of difference rarely arose, except when the Protestants
refused to let us join the country club. I managed to say that I was fine, liked my
4 S. Slaughter

roommates, and that was that. Mom and Dad didn’t pursue the matter, and, when I
brought my roommates home with me, were happy to entertain them.
I loved Wisconsin in the late 1960s and early 1970s. I was an English major, of
course, but also fascinated by history, my minor. The banquet of courses was
unbelievable—two of my favorites were Sub-Saharan Africa in the 17th Century
and Little Known Novels of the 19th Century. In the latter, I learned the trick of
always and easily being an A student. The professor, a lean, almost desiccated man,
with an incredibly dry sense of humor would open each class by saying of the novel
of the week— “There are four readings of the Damnation of Theron Ware,” and then
he would share what the major critics said, explicating their differences and the
points at which they contradicted each other. Then he would pause, look up at us
over his glasses, and say, “And now I will share my reading with you,” and proceed
to critique the critics and demonstrate the strength of his argument, illustrating how
they filled the gaps and holes the others had left, or, occasionally, offed a breath-
taking alternative that made you see the novel in an entirely different way, as if the
kaleidoscope had shifted. I was able to use his technique of analysis for my final
paper in the course, so well he thought I had plagiarized the paper. When I convinced
him I had not, he told me I should try to publish it.
It was impossible to avoid or ignore the student movement at Wisconsin. I
unwittingly walked into the first Dow demonstration on the way from my dormitory
to the library. Large crowds of student demonstrators gathered in front of the
Registrar’s office blocking my usual route, forcing me over a street. When I returned,
well past midnight, even larger numbers of students milled around, black shadows
against a dark and starless night. This was the first of the mass demonstrations, and
there were no lights, camera crews, microphones or reporters. As I came closer, I
heard voices raised in heated debate. Some voices demanded action now, an
immediate march on the president’s mansion, others counseled waiting for daylight.
I asked someone what was happening, and was informed that the police had taken
into custody the students who had staged a sit-down in the Registrar’s office in
protest over the university policy of giving school records to the selective service. A
low GPA sent a young man to Vietnam. I joined the crowd and heard young women
talking about counseling young men on draft resistance, secret routes to Canada, the
perils of federal prisons, heard young men wonder about when their number would
come up in the draft lottery, heard graduate students discuss forming a more
permanent organization. When I left, the crowd was still growing, although nothing
much was happening. The next morning, over breakfast with the Daly Cardinal, I
read that Robben Flemming, the university’s Chancellor, had arrived at the Regis-
trar’s office shortly after I had departed, had spoken with the crowd, and then gone
down to the Dane County jail and bailed out the arrested students with his own
money. I was hooked.
The second Dow Demonstration was different. By then Robben Flemming had
moved to Michigan, and there would be no more chancellors at Wisconsin bailing
anyone out. We were more militant, and the local police more hostile. The student
movement was determined to keep recruiters from the Dow Chemical Company
from meeting with students at the Business School because Dow manufactured
1 Intellectual Autobiography 5

Agent Orange. Anyone joining the protest inside the building, where students were
slated to join hands and hold back the recruiters, had to have non-violence training. I
had not taken the training, so was outside. The student leaders had talked to the
police previously, stating their non-violent intentions, making the case that they
would not resist arrest, but the police would have to carry them out of the building.
When the Dow recruiters entered, the police entered after them in full riot gear, and
beat the students with batons. As soon as the first bloody demonstrator was hauled
out, all hell broke loose.
After the police riot, as we demonstrators called it, the UW faculty senate held an
emergency night meeting in the Student Union to decide what their response would
be. Students, a number wearing bloody bandages from the riot, lined both sides of
the corridor leading to the hall where the faculty were debating because we were not
allowed in. The debate dragged on and on. Finally, the heavy doors swung open and
a faculty spokesperson came out and read a prepared statement indicating that they
would take no stance for or against the police. The students were asked to disburse,
but they did not. Instead they stayed, mute, their faces masks of betrayal as the
faculty walked out down the long corridor they lined. Another lesson: faculty were
rarely radical when it came to “the university.”
After that, in late fall 1968, I joined Students for a Democratic Society and
attended meetings held in the Ballroom on the top floor of the Student Union,
jammed full with hundreds of long-haired, bearded or braless blue-jeaned students,
many of whom spoke from a jury-rigged podium. I heard Ira Shor and many others
vow to dance on the grave of capitalism, all the while exhorting us to bigger and
better demonstrations against the war. I attended candle-lit marches that went from
the library down State Street to the Capitol building. I joined study groups that read
Marx, Trotsky, Mao, and critiqued commodity fetishism, capitalism and especially
imperialism. I saw The Battle of Algiers again and again. Whenever there was a
demonstration, I gathered with my classmates to participate in the elaborate staging
of a giant stag-and-hounds game, where the police, with dogs and tear-gas, chased
thousands of us up and down Bascom Hill, wheeling and turning, catching only a
hapless few, who were man-handled into police vans and hauled off to jail, while the
rest of us ran free, taunting and jeering at “the pigs.” When the National Guard rolled
onto campus, complete with armored vehicles and armed soldiers no older than we
were, the tension escalated, but the demonstrations never stopped. We spent the days
in protest, and went home and watched ourselves on the six o’clock news.
In wasn’t all politics and education. I remember the music of The Doors, The
Grateful Dead, The Beatles, especially the white Revolution album, and The Jeffer-
son Airplane floating through the air, and crowds of toked up youth dancing together
but apart, under strobe lights, sometimes in outdoor fields. None of the kids I knew
ever went to a football game or joined a sorority or fraternity, let alone student
government.
Participation in the movement raised questions that previously had never even
occurred to me: why were blacks segregated? did my family deserve what it had or
was the system rigged to make sure we got it? was war more related to economics
than politics, and was there such a thing as a just war? To find the answers, I read
6 S. Slaughter

books like Manchild in the Promised Land, Coming of Age in Mississippi, Soul on
Ice, The Labor Wars, My Life as a Political Prisoner, To the Finland Station,
Homage to Catalonia, Red Star over China, Fanshen, The Wretched of the Earth,
Episodes of the Revolutionary War and many more. As I read, I came to believe that
school had cheated me of my own history, that civics and social science were
ideology, that education ought to be otherwise and perhaps I could do something
to change it.
As an undergraduate, I was a foot-soldier in the student movement, one of
thousands who participated erratically in organizing events, and usually joined in
demonstrations. As a graduate student, things were different. I enrolled in Educa-
tional Policy Studies, an experimental department funded by the Ford Foundation to
quell student unrest with a progressive curriculum—there were no required classes,
not even methods classes. We were supposed to come up with a topic, find a major
professor and figure out what classes would help us anywhere across the university. I
saw it as an opportunity to become a full-fledged American dissident, as did many
others.
The major professor was an obvious choice—Phil Altbach, a new and very young
Ph.D. from the University of Chicago, who had himself been a student radical. He
had been deeply involved with the Student Peace Union, which was strongly
influenced by the Young People’s Socialist League, and he had been to the USSR
to attend conferences with student leaders from around the world to discuss the best
ways to defeat the use nuclear weapons and imperialism. Phil later found out the
SPU had been funded in part by the CIA so they could better monitor the partici-
pants. Phil also had a long FBI file that was so redacted it was impossible to read.
Despite growing up during the McCarthy era, I had had no idea that FBI surveilled
“normal” people. I was shocked and intrigued.
Phil and Bob Laufer, a sociologist, taught a seminar on universities in which
students went out and did research on campus issues—such as student protest, how
universities handled student protest, and academic freedom. Given that I had come to
define myself as a dissident, yet wanted to be a professor, I had a compelling interest
in the relationship between knowledge and power. How much of education was
ideology, how far could you transgress before provoking the heavy hand of the state
and the power elite? My project focused on how the university had handled the
promotion and tenure of two leftist professors, one of whom was tenured, the other
who was not. In the case of the professor who was not kept on, issues of academic
freedom were raised immediately by his supporters. I interviewed a number of
professors and administrators, and shared the process with classmates, as they did
their projects with me, and our professors. As I talked to people, I realized, for the
first time, and despite what administrators told me, that not getting tenured meant
you were fired. I also came to understand that professors could be quite radical as
long as they confined their analyses to professional journals, creating career as well
as critique, and did not criticize the university where they worked in public forums.
Phil and Bob talked about an edited book, where the work we had done could be
published. We were all thrilled—perhaps the work we were doing would make a
difference, change how universities worked. And then, the lawyer of the professor
1 Intellectual Autobiography 7

who had been fired called me. He wanted the transcripts of all my interviews in
preparation for a court case, and perhaps as evidence in the case. I told him that no
one had spoken directly about the professor who had been fired, which was the case,
but also knew my analysis and deductions concluded that he had been fired for
criticism of the university and its administrators. The lawyer said he could subpoena
me and my research.
I was disturbed and dismayed, knew this was bad, that I could not hand over my
research or testify about it. I had promised confidentiality to the people with whom I
had talked. I immediately called Phil and Bob, and they did what we hope all
professors will do. They said they would assume responsibility, that the lawyers
would have to deal with them, as would the university, as they were the persons in
charge of the materials because they were the professors. If I remember correctly, the
alleged only copy of interview transcripts ended up in Japan, far from the reach of
state courts, and the case never came to trial. I was buoyed up by the support of my
professors, although I always had a niggling doubt about whether justice had been
served, and felt somewhat guilty when I became a co-editor, with Phil and Bob, of
the book in which the article ultimately appeared. The experience gave me a life-long
interest in academic freedom and its limits.
About the same time, things were turning darker on and off campus in Madison.
When we protested at the state capitol, about a mile straight down the street from the
university, crowds of counter protesters would gather around us and, as we screamed
STOP THE WAR IN VIETNAM, they would scream, NEW YORK JEWS GO
HOME. There were outbursts of violence that went beyond that between police and
protestors: buildings set on fire, odd and ineffective bombs set off on campus, along
with smashed windows, and the Mifflin Street Riots, ignited when the hippy
heartland was denied a parade permit and the residents paraded nonetheless, which
led to a 3 days long brawl between students and police, marked by gratuitous police
violence.
A number of my radical fellow grad students became convinced their telephone
lines were being tapped and that we were under heavy surveillance. “Stop! Don’t say
anymore! Just stop!” they would say if you started to talk about where or when to
meet for a protest, or actions that were being contemplated. If you continued, they
would hang up. I couldn’t believe any branch of the state would take us seriously—
mere students with neither weapons nor, at that point, the will to use them. I was
wrong. Paul Soglin, himself a law student and student protestor, became Mayor of
Madison after the war ended, and declassified what ever information he could,
enough to reveal that multiple state agencies, including one associated with the
armed services had been spying on students, tapping their phones, following
our every move. So much for freedom of assembly and rights to privacy. The state
was not our savior.
Despite my involvement in the student movement, I went was making progress
on my dissertation. I wanted to know why we had never learned what the student
movement was teaching me. I was examining the organizational structure of
U.S. social science (1880–1920) to see what accommodation early economists,
political scientists and sociologists made with industrial capitalism, the state and
8 S. Slaughter

imperialism, and how their use of expertise in these domains shaped social science. I
was particularly concerned with how the handful of dissident social scientists--W.E.
B. du Bois, John Commons, Scott Nearing, Thorsten Veblen--negotiated with or lost
their way in the emerging academy. In other words, I was concerned with education
and ideology, power and knowledge, theory and praxis, at the same time I was
wrestling with method, data and arguments.
My third year as a graduate student I became deeply involved in the Teaching
Assistants Association (TAA). The TAA was our effort to make revolution at home.
As the Viet Cong cast off the yoke of imperialism, so we would overthrow an
academic establishment complicit in the military-industrial-academic complex.
Emulating the working class, the members of which we saw as the anointed agents
of revolutionary change and ironically ignoring our privileged position on campus,
we unionized. Teaching and research assistants demanded greater control over
courses taught, more relevant education, a voice in setting curricula and evaluating
faculty, and better pay. We were committed to union democracy, so decisions about
strategy and tactics were made at the department level through meetings of the whole
that ended only when consensus was achieved or we collapsed from exhaustion. As
the TAA prepared for its bargaining election, we attempted to affiliate with orga-
nized academic labor--first the American Association of University Professors, then
the National Education Association, finally the American Federation of Teachers, all
of whom rejected our overtures. Only the Teamsters, corrupt but powerful, would
have us. Another lesson learned.
When the university refused to bargain with us, we went on strike, and shut the
campus down. Like others in my department’s unit, I walked endless hours on the
picket line, maintained communications with strike head-quarters, proselytized pro-
fessors and students in my college, trying to enlist their support for the strike. Part of
our picket duty was to prevent deliveries from being made to various campus
operations--food services, physical plant, science and engineering laboratories.
The headiest moment I recall was when three or four of us blocked an ally behind
the Army Math Research Building, armed only with our lathe and cardboard picket
signs, as an 18 wheeler chemical tanker rolled up to deliver materials critical for
weapons research. We didn’t know if the driver would stop, nor what we would do if
he didn’t. He stuck his head out the window and asked if we were really teamsters.
Yes, yes, we shouted. A fellow-teamster, he gave us a thumbs up and backed away.
After 6 weeks, we won the strike.
Winning the strike, as always, didn’t mean the end of the struggle. We had to
bargain with our faculty at the department level to implement reforms we had
sought. Among them were teaching evaluations. Even the most progressive faculty
were against them, but they were part of the settlement. We had to bargain over each
item in the evaluation questionnaire, a difficult task when at least one of us was
always facing our major professor. However, we instated the first university wide
faculty evaluations in the US.
About this time, I discovered I was pregnant, as was Sally, a close friend also in
our program. Together, we tried to figure out how we were going to have babies,
hold down research assistantships, and eventually have careers, topics which pushed
1 Intellectual Autobiography 9

me inexorably toward feminism. Sally was already a committed feminist. She had
been a member of an early feminist group while earning a Master’s degree and began
to talk to Pam, another woman who would become a lifetime friend and colleague,
and me about the women’s movement. Radical politics, the class struggle, Sally told
us, were not enough. As blacks had to achieve parity with whites, the working class
equity with the classes above it, so women had to win equality with men. Initially, I
didn’t pay attention. After several years in the student movement and the TAA, I saw
imperialism, the war, racial and social inequality, and above all capitalism, as the
central problems we faced. Perhaps, when those problems were solved, we could
turn out attention to the lot of women.
“Exactly,” replied Sally, “Exactly the mistake radical women always make.” And
she proceeded to lecture me on the history of the early American Federation of Labor
and the way it had treated the International Ladies’ Garment Workers’ Union. I
listened, but remained skeptical. Unlike Betty Freidan, whose work Sally urged upon
me, I didn’t think I had a problem for which there was no name. Even though I was
married and pregnant, I was in graduate school, planning a career, and deeply
involved in politics that I hoped would change the world. I thought my life would
be different than my mother’s.
Besides, I felt I had been generally well-treated by men. When I reviewed my
past, I didn’t see discrimination. In what I came to view as the height of false
consciousness, I believed that being young, smart and pretty gave me a bit of an
advantage in a world where older men had all the power. Sally sensed my ambiv-
alence on the woman question. “You might not see it now,” she said grimly, “You
think you’re special, you think you’re different. But you just wait. When you’re not a
graduate student, the first time you’re in a position where you have to tell men what
to do, it won’t matter what you look like or how smart you are. They’ll call you a
ball-breaking cunt.”
At that point, I couldn’t imagine a situation in which I would be telling men what
to do. In my fantasies of the future, I was always the acolyte, the ingénue, hand
maiden to men of intellect and action. But I did start to read. Simone de Beauvoir‘s
Second Sex made sense to me in a way Betty Freidan did not. De Beauvoir’s Marxist
but existential analysis that drew parallels between class struggle and gender warfare
fit in with the way I was coming to see the world. As I read, I said over and over to
myself, “How could she write this in 1948? How could she see it?” but at the same
time I, not unlike de Beauvoir, saw myself as an exception, thought my lot would be
different. And, then, in my first job after completing my Ph.D., as assistant to the
president of community college, exactly what Rachel said occurred—a very senior
male professor with a temper who disagreed with me over our affirmative action
policy called me a ball-breaking cunt in front of several other silverbacks, and
stalked away. I got it then.
For the most part, the professors in our department studiously avoided discussing
our increasingly obvious pregnancies. The exception was Phil, our major professor
and life-long supporter. Another professor, never a teacher of mine, stopped me in
the hall and told me women in my condition shouldn’t be in school. Because I
obviously made professors uncomfortable, the TAA departmental bargaining unit, of
10 S. Slaughter

which I was a member, insisted that I be present at every session, no matter how
many hours went by. When it became clear that my oral exams and my due date
would occur about the same time, my committee, afraid I might go into labor under
duress of questioning, waived the examination. I took my last academic classes at the
same time I was taking Lamaze classes. I practiced panting and candle breathing
while I studied for written prelims. I remained involved in the women’s movement
for the rest of my life.
Sally, Pam and I left Madison before we defended. We did finish, all came back at
the same time, stayed with Phil, took our orals—Phil and I rode into the university on
a bicycle built for two! —and had an amazing party afterward. We had not yet read
Foucault’s chapter in Discipline and Punish on The Examination, but we already had
the critique.
The lessons we learned in Madison shaped the rest of our intellectual lives. I was
the only one to go into the field of higher education, and I couldn’t have had better
preparation. I had learned an enormous amount about the way universities worked. I
knew they liberated students through education at the same time they enforced
stratification through selection processes at all levels. I knew they tolerated critique,
but there were limits. Indeed, I came to understand academic freedom, as envisioned
by the AAUP, was a tacit bargain administrations made that allowed space for
critique in return for faculty managing the revolutionary potential of new knowl-
edge. Even though I knew all this, I loved universities anyway, and still do.
We never considered not offering left critique in our academic work. If we
couldn’t research and write about what we though was important, we knew we
didn’t want to be in the academy. We were smart, well-educated, could do other
things. I had even picked out epidemiology as an alternative career.
That’s not to say we didn’t temper our critiques as we got older and confronted
the complexities of how money and power shaped organizations and culture. By the
time we were associate professors we had long given up hopes of a revolution that
would create Doris Lessing’s four-gated city. Instead, we continued to value Marx
and Marxian tradition for the critique of capital, subtle understanding of power and
class, and, if we consider Engels, the longstanding, although often imperfectly
realized, recognition of women as the equal of men. We moved beyond the state
as the executive committee of the bourgeoisie to the ideas of Ralph Miliband,
Antonio Gramsci and Louis Althusser. Later postmodernism taught us there was
no truth with a capital T, but we still thought we had to struggle to find it, even if it
was imperfect, transient, and contradicted ideas we held tightly.
Although the student movement and graduate school were formative, we never
considered them the end of our education. All three of us were in various study
groups at a number of different universities for the rest of our lives—feminist study
groups, leftist study groups, theory study groups—and we tried to replicate those in
the way we worked with students. And I learned from my many wonderful col-
leagues in higher education with whom I wrote and edited books and articles. After
all, one’s intellectual autobiography doesn’t have an ending.
Chapter 2
Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next
Generation of Diversity Research Toward
Racial Equity

Uma M. Jayakumar, Liliana M. Garces, and Julie J. Park

As a general concept, diversity is part of educational and mainstream discourse. It is

common to hear about its value in K–12 and postsecondary education, in the
workplace, and in society at large. In the case of higher education, it is considered
central to an institution’s capacity to thrive in an increasingly multiracial and
pluralistic society (Gurin, Dey, Hurtado, & Gurin, 2002; Page, 2007; Smith,
2015). For some, its worthiness as a goal in and of itself is simply taken for granted.
At the same time, however, many perceive it as an elusive agenda that has missed its
mark. Some of this tension derives from disagreement about what we mean when we
say “diversity.” Are we talking about simple numerical representation or something
more meaningful? In this chapter, we address this question as we describe how a
notion that emerged as an avenue for upholding Civil Rights-era policies to address
racial discrimination and exclusion has more recently come to include a broad range
of social identities and experiential differences. We connect the evolution of diver-
sity research to the outcomes of key U.S. Supreme Court cases over the last four
decades, and we describe current conversations about the concept—conversations
that are not necessarily tied to advancing racial justice in access, opportunities, and

U. M. Jayakumar (*)
Higher Education and Policy, Graduate School of Education, University of California,
Riverside, Riverside, CA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]
L. M. Garces
Department of Educational Leadership and Policy, The University of Texas at Austin, Austin,
TX, USA
e-mail: [email protected]
J. J. Park
Department of Counseling, Higher Education, and Special Education, University of Maryland,
College Park, MD, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 11

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_2
12 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

matriculation (Ahmed, 2012; Berrey, 2015b; Warikoo, 2016). This contradiction

highlights a significant and pressing question: Is diversity still a useful concept for
advancing social and racial equity, particularly in the context of postsecondary
education?
We seek to complicate this binary question, as opposed to putting forth a simple
answer. We discuss how constraints in early understandings of diversity have
allowed for the concept to be co-opted, and argue that it is now therefore limited.
We consider whether numerical diversity—which we view as a necessary but
insufficient condition for promoting racial equity—can drive intentional work to
fulfill a broader social justice vision. We encourage a more comprehensive interro-
gation of the supposedly “race-neutral” mechanisms within which postsecondary
admissions practices and campus diversity initiatives are couched. Likewise, we
consider the challenges of colorblindness and campus environments that center
Whiteness as they co-exist with diversity infrastructures.
In this research synthesis, we define diversity in relationship to its emergence in
the 1978 Bakke v. University of California U.S. Supreme Court decision. As we
discuss extensively later, the term was employed in Bakke to narrowly define how
and for what purposes colleges and universities could legally use race and ethnicity
as a factor in admissions. Because the public and legal debates originated with and
continue to center the racial and ethnic dimensions of diversity, that is where we also
intentionally place our focus. This is consistent with the analytic approach we take in
this manuscript, which is rooted in the tradition of critical race theory (CRT; Ladson-
Billings & Tate, 1995; Ledesma & Calderon, 2015; Solórzano, 1997). While CRT
calls for interdisciplinary approaches that invite intersectional analyses and consid-
eration of multiple forms of marginalized social statuses, it does so while continuing
to center race.
When we refer to diversity literature or scholarship, we borrow from Smith
(2015), defining it as the body of social science research within the broader study
of student learning and success that focuses on the role of and institutional condi-
tions for diversity. This literature has emerged from a variety of fields, primarily
social psychology, organizational theory, and higher education (Smith, 2015). It is in
part the result of shifts in educational philosophies that now include a greater
emphasis on pluralism, as well as increased student diversity of various forms on
college campuses (Smith, 2015). But it has also largely materialized from concerted
efforts to build a body of empirical inquiry to inform and defend legal challenges to
the consideration of race in educational policies (Berrey, 2015b; Gurin, Lehman, &
Lewis, 2007). In particular, diversity scholarship has sought to confront challenges
to race-conscious admissions practices that made their way through the lower courts
in the 1990s, leading up to the 2003 Michigan “affirmative action cases,” Grutter
v. Bollinger and Gratz v. Bollinger, and continuing through the most recent Fisher
v. University of Texas cases, all of which, we argue, were limited by the 1978 Bakke
precedent (Berrey, 2015b; Garces, 2014a; Smith, 2015).
As we discuss at length, legal decisions over the last 40 years have allowed for the
continuation of the consideration of race in university admissions policies and for the
creation of palatable interventions for improving campus racial dynamics that are not
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 13

threatening to White interests. Unfortunately, these changes have also constricted the
potential for implementing more radical and holistic solutions toward racial equity
across campuses (Ahmed, 2012; Warikoo, 2016). And while the concept of diversity
can help build consensus, foster a sense of belonging, and improve social relations, it
can also insulate those in power from responsibility for enacting transformative
structural changes (Berrey, 2015b). Thus, we argue that the next generation of
scholarship must address these tensions in order to reclaim the utility of diversity
research in advancing more transformative postsecondary interventions and greater
racial equity.
When we say equity, we are mindful that in the U.S. context an individual’s life
chances, educational opportunities, and ability for self-determination are shaped by
race and racism. Equity therefore requires that educational outcomes not be
constrained by structural inequities (see Brayboy, 2005). This definition of equity
is based on a notion of justice as transformation, which draws from CRT in
acknowledging the existence of institutional and structural racism in education and
the need for policies and practices that actively counter and dismantle these condi-
tions (Dowd & Bensimon, 2015). Thus, as Museus, Ledesma, and Parker (2015)
argued, “racial equity does not simply refer to equal representation.” Rather, it
means “racially equitable systems in which racially diverse perspectives”—and,
we contend, group interests—“are equally embedded in power structures, policy-
making processes, and the cultural fabric of organizations” (p. 13). As such, simple
numeric diversity is necessary but far from sufficient.
In the absence of transformative policies and practices that address racial ineq-
uities on campus, diversity rhetoric and efforts can be used to justify the divestment
of resources to students of color and other marginalized campus subgroups (Ahmed,
2012; Baez, 2004; Berrey, 2015b). Failure to recognize structural and institutional
racism can lead to racial apathy, or a “lack of care about racial inequity and the
related belief that there is no need to intervene to address racial inequality” (Forman
& Lewis, 2015, p. 1417). This is compounded by embedded “colorblind frames”—
ways of seeing that do not recognize the pervasiveness of race and racism within
campus diversity infrastructures (Jayakumar, 2015b; Warikoo & de Novais, 2014)—
and a growing belief among many that there is “reverse racism” against Whites
(Bonilla-Silva, 2014; Cabrera, 2014).1
While White backlash against civil rights progress has been evident and growing
over the past decade (Haney López, 2010; Lipson, 2011), these trends have arguably
reached an emboldened status with the election of our 45th president, who has
consistently denigrated groups of minoritized and marginalized peoples as part of
his platform (Bannan, 2016). The failure of postsecondary institutions to foster
environments that challenge rather than reinforce inequitable racial dynamics is
not lost on students, as evidenced by protests and the thoughtful demands presented
by Black student organizations and allied groups across 100+ institutions nationwide

1
In this manuscript we capitalize “White” and “Black” in reference to racial groups, per current
APA guidelines.
14 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

last year. (See, for example, http://www.thedemands.org, as well as Chessman and

Wayt’s 2016 analysis of the demands in Higher Education Today.) We believe that it
is only by understanding and engaging these new challenges and tensions that
diversity scholarship can reclaim its utility and have significant implications for
challenging racial inequality in postsecondary education.
Numerous scholars have offered useful and comprehensive syntheses of the now
vast literature on how postsecondary campuses can bring students together to realize
the educational benefits of diversity and build institutional capacity and conditions
for healthy intergroup relations (see, for example, Garces & Jayakumar, 2014;
Gurin, Nagda, & Zúñiga, 2013; Hurtado, 2005; Hurtado, Milem, Clayton-Pederson,
& Allen, 1998, 1999; Jackson & O’Callaghan, 2009; Milem, Chang, & antonio,
2005; Smith, 2015; William, Berger, & McClendon, 2005). To avoid repetition and
provide a different perspective that engages the new tensions for diversity scholar-
ship, we depart from this traditional approach. Instead, we provide a review of
scholarly work to inform a reclaimed framing of diversity—one that will advance
advocacy research, policy, and discourses as it provides direction for a critical
diversity scholarship agenda toward racial equity.
Research and institutional discourse on diversity have been shaped by demo-
graphic trends as well as national and global imperatives (Smith, 2015), but the legal
context has often dictated the role of diversity in movement toward racial equity and
justice in postsecondary practices (e.g., Berrey, 2015b). As such, we frame our
exploration around the U.S. Supreme Court cases that have informed and shaped
diversity research in recent decades. This more context-informed (but not context-
dependent) framing allows for a broader range of solutions across multiple advocacy
contexts, and supports the advancement of diversity scholarship guided by a critical
race consciousness (i.e., awareness of the existence of racism and the need to
dismantle policies and practices that promote and sustain it). But legal parameters
need not dictate the range of institutional interventions and solutions we envision for
improving racial equity in postsecondary education (Chang, Chang, & Ledesma,
2005; Yosso, Parker, Solórzano, & Lynn, 2004). Thus, later in this chapter we also
propose a range of future empirical studies on diversity that remain connected to
postsecondary racial equity and justice, are informative for questions raised by
current legal frameworks, and expand inquiry outside these legal parameters.
We have divided this chapter into three main parts. First, in Part I, we provide an
overview of the legal context that informed the evolution of diversity-related
research to date. We then discuss how constraints in early conceptions of diversity
allowed other audiences to define the term for their own purposes in ways that took
away from a focus on the racial discrimination students face on college campuses. In
light of this “watering down,” in Part II we turn to critiques and limitations of
diversity as a tool for addressing racial inequality and advocacy today. In so doing,
we highlight Bell’s (1980) thesis of interest convergence to explain the contradic-
tions related to engaging in the debate over how race can be considered in educa-
tional policies and practices and argue that we need a new critical framing of
diversity in order to advance research, policy, and discourse. Finally, in Part III,
we highlight recent empirical and theoretical work that can inform a new agenda for
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 15

critical diversity research. We intentionally feature areas of work that engage prior
lines of diversity scholarship in ways that continue to be helpful, while also
highlighting new frameworks that put forth a re-envisioned agenda that advances
racial justice.
This chapter will be of interest to higher education scholars and practitioners who
have a strategic critical orientation toward diversity research, as well as those who
are interested in developing a critical consciousness. It is dedicated to emerging
scholars, institutional researchers, and student affairs administrators interested in
contributing to the diversity literature in new ways that can inform more racially
equitable policies and postsecondary practices. At the same time, it will also be
useful to more seasoned higher education scholars and practitioners. In particular, it
will be valuable to those who seek to consider recent racial critiques of diversity and
the new challenges of a shifting policy context in work aimed at advancing
postsecondary racial opportunity and justice.
Before turning to these three primary components, it is worthwhile to provide a
bit more context for the endeavor. Specifically, we describe in greater depth our
rationale for approaching this review of diversity research through a legal lens.
Because our underlying goal in writing this chapter is to inform future directions
for diversity scholarship, our approach was guided largely by a framework informed
by a critical race praxis for educational research (CRP-Ed; Jayakumar & Adamian,
2015a). Thus, we close this introductory section with a summary of CRP-Ed as it
relates to this manuscript.

2.1 Rationale for Our Approach

The phrase diversity work is used to describe efforts on college campuses to increase
diversity or to facilitate meaningful inclusion on campus. These efforts include
addressing the historical legacies of exclusion that characterize predominantly
White institutions (Hurtado et al., 1998, 1999; Milem et al., 2005) as well as
nurturing cross-racial interactions that contribute to learning and reduce prejudice
(Gurin et al., 2013). Such efforts have primarily concentrated on gender, racial, and
ethnic diversity, but in more recent years have expanded to include marginalized
social status groups (e.g., English learners, LGBTQ community members, students
with disabilities) and non-traditional identity status groups (e.g., international stu-
dents, adult learners). Institutional leaders, as Berrey (2015b) asserted, “invoke
diversity to describe heterogeneity, talk in code for black people, denounce minority
exclusion, or build a concept of mutual gain. They ‘do’ diversity in a variety of ways,
from implementing effective policies, to photoshopping. Their objectives vary as
well, be they advocacy for race-targeted interventions, low-stakes affirmation, or
legal inoculation” (p. 7). But how did this evolution, this broadening, take place?
In higher education, the concept of diversity cannot be divorced from the legal
developments that have shaped its current definition and application. For this reason,
we trace the concept back to the types of policies and practices that emerged out of
16 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s that were intended to address the legacies of
government-enforced racial segregation (Karabel, 2005). Race-based affirmative
action, for example, emerged from an express moral imperative on the part of
some colleges and universities to contribute to the cause of racial equity and social
change necessary to address centuries of racial oppression (Stulberg & Chen, 2014).
At the most selective institutions, these policies started in the early 1960s at the
initiative of liberally-minded administrators who were inspired by the Civil Rights
Movement; others joined years later, in response to direct action campaigns by Black
college students and their allies (Rogers, 2012; Stulberg & Chen, 2014). The
resulting policies and practices included aggressive outreach to and recruitment of
Black students and the consideration of their race as a favorable and “matter of fact”
factor in admissions (Stulberg & Chen, 2014, p. 42).
Today, however, such race-based policies and practices have come to be seen by
many as racially-discriminatory (Bonilla-Silva, 2014; Garces, 2014a; Harris, 2003).
The only permissible legal rationale for considering race in postsecondary admis-
sions is the goal of diversity; even then, it can only be considered alongside an array
of other additional factors such as gender, sexual orientation, disability, and veteran
status. In fact, diversity has come to denote differences in viewpoints, perspectives,
and personal experiences of students—in many instances without attention to how
these differences connect to unequal access to resources or to legacies of racial
oppression in U.S. society. A main contributor to this shift was a concerted attack on
race-based policies and practices by conservative groups in the legal arena (Lipson,
2011; Orfield, 2015). Concurrently, a large body of social science research has
emerged related to diversity across a number of areas in postsecondary education.
Most if not all of the pioneering scholars who initially developed lines of inquiry
foundational to the diversity literature did so to have a strategic advocacy voice in
legal debates leading up to Grutter v. Bollinger (2003). Patricia Gurin, Mitchell
Chang, Sylvia Hurtado, Eric Dey, and Jeffrey Milem, amongst others, provided
important evidence that the Court cited in support of upholding affirmative action
(Gurin et al., 2007; Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b). While the Court ignored the
more student-of-color-centered arguments of intervening groups that spoke to the
role of racism in schools—including the organized efforts of the Coalition to Defend
Affirmative Action, Integration and Immigrant Rights and Fight for Equality by Any
Means Necessary (BAMN), student-activist intervenors at the University of Mich-
igan, and scholars such as Walter Allen, Daniel Solórzano, Lani Guinier, and others
(Harris, 2003; Ledesma, 2015)—these critical arguments impacted institutional
practices, public discourse, and even the legal parameters of the impending debate
(Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b).
The evidence entered by those who stayed within the Court-defined precedent
leading up to the most recent pronouncement of the parameters within which
postsecondary institutions can consider race in their policies—Fisher v. University
of Texas (2013, 2016)—included a tempered discussion of racism and discrimina-
tion, negative campus climate, and racial microaggressions in support of the
university’s race-conscious policies (see, for example, Brief of American Social
Scientist Researchers, 2013; Brief of 823 American Social Science Researchers,
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 17

2016; Garces, 2015a). This is encouraging. Still, despite the “wins” in the legal arena
to maintain the constitutionality of “race-conscious” admissions policies and prac-
tices, universities’ most exclusionary practices of relying largely on standardized test
scores in admissions remained intact (Berrey, 2015b; Guinier, 2015).
The early scholars noted above, and many of those who continue to do diversity
research as advocacy, have experienced conflict in attempting to conform to the
problematic terms of a constricting debate, which has been perceived as a require-
ment for participation. (For a longer discussion, see Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b.)
Here, we engage with the tension caused by the resulting false binaries of divergent
paths to influencing change—diversity work or critical work; conformist or reform-
ist; following or challenging the rules of the debate. Challenging racial inequality at
its roots, critiquing diversity discourses in postsecondary institutions, and rejecting
dominant narratives are all important. To enact social, political, and legislative
change, however, we cannot overlook the potential impact of being a part of the
policy conversation—and, moreover, of doing so while guided by a critical con-
sciousness. The lesson here is that diversity research efforts going forward can be
informed by critical theory and long-term radical vision, and that scholars must
actively and strategically incorporate such a vision wherever possible. This vision
must include interventions that stay within parameters of legal decisions, such as
Fisher (2013, 2016), so the cases can reflect the lessons of research that can expand
those legal parameters; likewise, some interventions must go outside of the policy
context to challenge mechanisms contributing to the production of racial inequities.
As Jayakumar and Adamian (2015b) asserted, this long-term radical vision is
what differentiates critically conscious diversity research praxis—where “praxis” is
understood as strategic and intentional practice “directed at the structures to be
transformed” (Freire, 1970, p. 126)—from conformist diversity research, which
centers the dominant group’s interests without purpose or attention to policy impli-
cations for groups that are marginalized. Diversity work that does not consider
political implications for people of color, perhaps even claiming objectivity, fits
into the latter category because it implicitly or explicitly favors the dominant group’s
interests in the guise of neutrality (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b). This vision is
particularly important following Fisher, a case that preserved the constitutionality of
considering race in educational policies but did not end the debate about or conser-
vative attack on such policies. This ongoing struggle is exemplified by current
lawsuits against Harvard University and the University of North Carolina, Chapel
Hill (Biskupic, 2015).
As we have imagined future diversity research in this post-Fisher era, several
important questions have emerged: Will scholars produce diversity research that
feeds into or provides counter-narratives to the dominant legal parameters? Can
scholars expand diversity research to address the very mechanisms that reinforce
racial hierarchies and inequality in postsecondary institutions? How can scholars
work within and outside of the parameters of the debate for the explicit purpose of
advancing meaningful inquiry with implications for supporting existing (and future)
policies and practices that support racial equity in higher education? Our collective
18 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

answers may determine whether we move toward or away from a critically conscious
diversity research praxis.
We take a “both/and” approach—one that considers the incremental racial relief
acquired through the use of the diversity rationale in the policy context and juxta-
poses it with the very real consequences and limitations of diversity discourses in
addressing racism in postsecondary institutions. Given the limitations of studying
diversity (Baez, 2004) and the contemporary challenges of how it has been co-opted
(e.g., Warikoo, 2016), we require an approach that takes into account the current
policy terrain and the current challenges to advancing racial equity in higher
education. As such, we depart from a traditional literature review. Instead, we
analyze literature on the topic of diversity in shifting sociopolitical contexts and
discuss the implications of that analysis for research going forward. As noted earlier,
rather than identifying gaps in the literature, which has been done before (e.g.,
Garces & Jayakumar, 2014; Gurin et al., 2013; Hurtado et al., 1998, 1999; Jackson
& O’Callaghan, 2009; Milem et al., 2005; Smith, 2015; Williams et al., 2005), we
highlight frameworks and areas of scholarship that can advance strategic directions
for diversity work that can more effectively advance racial equity in postsecondary
education.

2.2 A Critical Race Praxis for Educational Research

Approach

The contemporary challenge for scholars who seek to critically inform consequential
policy decisions by having a voice at the table is to understand the limitations of the
legal context but not to accept these limitations as empirical truth. In other words, it
is important to participate within the proverbial legal box, but at the boundaries—to
press up against and expand its stated limits. In practical terms, this means engaging
in empirical inquiry that provides evidence in language that will be well received in
the legal context, but that also challenges dominant legal narratives (Jayakumar &
Adamian, 2015b). At the same time, it means understanding that affirmative action
and the diversity argument put forth to maintain the policy have always been
grounded in partial truths and partial solutions—they have always been “race-
conscious” but never “racism-conscious,” and always incomplete as solutions to
achieving racial equity and justice (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015a).
Thus, CRT calls on researchers to advance counterstories that challenge dominant
narratives across multiple spheres of influence (Crenshaw, 2011; Delgado &
Stefanic, 2012). Such spheres of influence might include a policy audience, various
institutional stakeholders and practitioners, the college classroom, scholarly debate,
public (critical) consciousness, or knowledge production. Within each sphere of
influence there are associated parameters for participation—for example, particular
languages and literacies that are accepted versus contested. Likewise, there are
context-specific dominant narratives that support the racial status quo, and there
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 19

are different avenues to interventions against these narratives depending on whether

the approach is short- or long-term, tempered or radical. To support the need for
multiple counterstories, our approach here represents a reflective process toward
envisioning the next generation of diversity scholarship. This process is guided by
CRP-Ed.
CRP-Ed is rooted in CRT and is based on legal scholar Erik Yamamoto’s (1997)
foundational theorizing about what it would mean to employ CRT toward a critical
race praxis in the field of law. Critical race scholars in the field of education have
recently begun to draw on Yamamoto’s critical race praxis (see, for example, Croom
& Marsh, 2016; Stovall, Lynn, Danley, & Martin, 2009) in order to challenge
oppressive schooling conditions. To further support its application in educational
research and practice, Jayakumar and Adamian (2015a) put forth the CRP-Ed lens,
which calls for educational scholars and practitioners to work toward transformation
with a critical awareness of the current racial paradigm within which policies and
practices are situated. In addition to foundationally drawing from Yamamoto (1997),
the tenets of CRP-Ed (described in detail below) integrate the authors’ interdisci-
plinary perspectives and advocacy experiences across secondary and postsecondary
education sectors, as well as the theoretical contributions of Freire (1970), Ellsworth
(1997), Gramsci (1971), Zuberi and Bonilla-Silva (2008), and Bell (1980), amongst
others.
CRP-Ed supports bridging the counterproductive chasm between critical race
theorists, researchers who strive to inform policy and schooling structures, and
stakeholders who are aligned with community activism. It encourages a more
synergistic relationship marked by mutual recognition and strategic leveraging of
the role each group can play in seeking to advance racial justice, whether in tempered
or radical ways, depending on the context in which advocacy is being generated. It is
synergistic when these groups can inform one another to improve upon their
respective weaknesses—whether that is a lack of practical application and policy
relevance, or a lack of a critical perspective, which can limit the potential for radical
change. CRP-Ed recognizes the advantages within each camp for effecting policy
change and for transforming inequitable structures at different moments in the
overall change process. Notably, it does not endeavor to quell the existing tensions
and contradictions between various camps, but instead encourages awareness for
how the tensions and contradictions can be mutually beneficial for countering White
hegemony across multiple dimensions or battlegrounds.
Hegemony (or hegemonic ideology) is an ideology that is “dominant, rarely
questioned, and often seems to be “common sense”; it is constructed, legitimized,
and perpetuated to maintain social control through the privileging of more powerful
social groups over the voices of those in positions of less power” (Camangian, 2013,
p. 119; Gramsci, 1971). Collins (as cited in Camangian, 2013) noted that hegemonic
ideology works to “absorb and thereby depoliticize oppressed groups’ dissent”
(p. 119), which creates a need for re-naming co-opted justice strategies and creating
new resistance tactics (Freire, 1970; Gramsci, 1971). Counter-hegemonic action and
analysis can promote liberatory, humanizing thought and discourses against oppres-
sive political, economic, and social hegemony (Camangian, 2013; Gramsci, 1971).
20 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

Jayakumar and Adamian (2015a) posited four tenets of CRP-Ed: (a) relational
advocacy toward mutual engagement; (b) the re-definition of dominant and hege-
monic systems; (c) research as a dialectical space that can challenge the racial status
quo or perpetuate it; and (d) critical engagement with policy. The first of these,
relational advocacy toward mutual engagement, asserts the importance of multiple
counterstories to challenge dominant narratives across multiple spheres of influence
(e.g., policy debate and public consciousness/debate), and collective reflection/
leveraging across different positionalities (e.g., grassroots, teachers, students, edu-
cational researchers, political lawyers, policymakers) and within and across
intersectional identities and power relations. The second tenet, redefining dominant
and hegemonic systems, is a commitment to naming the world and the word in order
to transform it (Freire, 1970), which requires cultivating a critical consciousness that
informs the application of theory to practice. Naming the context of oppression
includes understanding different resistances and their co-optations; it entails an
iterative process that requires re-defining the context once it adapts to the resistance,
in order to continue to challenge oppressive policies and practices.
Third, research as a dialectical space acknowledges the racist legacy of White
research and White methods (see Zuberi & Bonilla-Silva, 2008), thereby interrupting
the assumption of research as neutral and objective. At the same time, however, this
tenet promotes the usage of empirical inquiry as a tool for advancing counter-
narratives to support resistance that is accountable to communities of color. In
other words, it reminds scholars of the power and legitimacy that research findings
can generate for an idea or position as well as the imperative of taking this
responsibility seriously and in a way that is accountable to oppressed communities.
This means that critically conscious research praxis can come in many forms,
methodologically speaking (e.g., qualitative or quantitative) and with regard to the
utilization of language/terminology that allows for participation and advocacy par-
ticular to the context it seeks to transform.
Finally, the fourth tenet, critical engagement with policy, calls for strategic
advocacy within (and outside of) the policy context that involves an understanding
of the dynamics of interest convergence constriction and expansion (discussed in
detail later in the chapter). It calls on scholars to both recognize when interest
convergence expansion is happening—for example, when there is agitation and
social movement that lead to mass consciousness raising—and to see that this
expansion can be leveraged to advance more just policies and practices. In sum,
this tenet encourages a broader understanding of the types of research that can
impact policy change. This can include but looks beyond research that directly
(and critically) questions and informs educational policy and school reform efforts
within legal parameters. In particular, it draws an explicit link between research that
supports agitation (and counter-hegemonic actions) and the policy transformation
process. Together, the four CRP-Ed tenets emphasize and embrace the contradic-
tions and tensions involved in working across different positionalities that involve
power dynamics and differential constraints and opportunities for racial justice
advocacy.
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 21

As a whole, a CRP-Ed lens supports research that answers problems of practice as

they are situated within current legal and institutional paradigms that support White
hegemony. At the same time, it supports research that names and challenges the very
hegemonic systems and paradigms within which the work is situated in order to
transform these structures. The latter is critical, not only for its theoretical value but
also because it adds practical value by allowing research that is situated within the
legal system and institutions to remain counter-hegemonic. Stated differently, this
naming and challenging, informed by CRT and its interventions, can ensure that
research designed to inform problems of legal and institutional practice has the
potential to disrupt dominant narratives as opposed to blindly facilitating White
hegemonic interests (usually framed in the guise of neutrality). The contemporary
challenges identified in this manuscript include an increasingly colorblind policy
context and the co-optation of diversity as an effective strategy for advancing more
inclusive and equitable postsecondary institutional environments.
The CRP-Ed lens incorporates an understanding of prior strategy in order to guide
future diversity scholarship within the legal paradigm and beyond. Thus, in the
context of this chapter, a CRP-Ed approach calls for naming and understanding the
shifting legal and institutional context and challenges within which future diversity
work will be situated, toward envisioning the type of empirical inquiries that can
generate interest convergence expansion and counter-hegemonic actions on multiple
advocacy domains. Specifically, it calls for a holistic and critical assessment of the
current legal and political climate—which, as we describe, is one of colorblindness
and racial divisiveness. First, however, we turn to a discussion of how diversity
research has evolved, and how this evolution can be mapped to the legal develop-
ments surrounding affirmative action in a postsecondary educational context.

2.3 Part I: Mapping the Evolution of Diversity Research

to Legal Developments Around Affirmative Action
in Postsecondary Education

As we noted in the previous section, an understanding of the evolution of diversity

research requires a simultaneous exploration of the effects of the legal developments
around affirmative action policies and practices and the related collaborations
between legal and social science scholars (e.g., Garces, 2014a). The consideration
of race in education policies is subject to constitutional scrutiny under the Equal
Protection Clause of the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. As such, when
postsecondary institutions consider race—such as in affirmative action or race-
conscious policies—they inevitably confront questions of law. As individuals and
organizations bring new challenges under the 14th Amendment, postsecondary
administrators and professionals must defend their policies and practices in the
legal arena. Their efforts are supported by lawyers, legal scholars, and social
scientists who can participate in the litigation as amici curiae (friends of the court)
22 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

through what are commonly referred to as amicus briefs. In this way, challenges to
race-conscious practices in the legal arena generate new lines of research that can
inform such litigation. The outcomes of these legal cases then shape educational
policies and practices that, in turn, generate new lines of diversity research. And, in a
continuation of the cycle, these new lines of research subsequently inform new
challenges to race-conscious practices in the legal arena.
In this section we trace this dynamic process in the postsecondary context,
highlighting challenges and compromises between legal advocates and, in particular,
social science researchers. We first summarize the 1978 landmark legal case that set
the legal foundation for considering the constitutionality of race-conscious admis-
sions practices in postsecondary education, Regents of the University of California
v. Bakke. As legal challenges to race-conscious practices continued, collaborations
between legal scholars and social scientists generated early lines of diversity
research that informed litigation in the next set of legal cases, more than 20 years
later—Grutter v. Bollinger (2003) and Gratz v. Bollinger (2003). The outcomes of
these cases shaped educational policies and practices as well as generated new lines
of diversity research, as scholars worked within and sought to expand the constraints
of the legal framework. These new lines of diversity research have informed ongoing
litigation, including the recent decisions in Fisher v. University of Texas (2013,
2016).

2.3.1 Bakke’s Shift: From Addressing the Effects of Racial

Segregation Policies and Ensuring Access for Racial
Minorities to Promoting Diversity, Protecting Whites
from Discrimination, and Advancing Conceptions
of White Innocence

Regents of the University of California v. Bakke (1978) resulted in a splintered

Supreme Court decision that established the legal framework used to evaluate the
constitutionality of race-conscious policies in postsecondary education. The decision
required institutions to shift the focus of race-conscious policies away from com-
pensating for racial wrongs or addressing ongoing discrimination and toward pro-
moting diversity. As we summarize in more detail below, the case also applied a
legal test—strict scrutiny—that ultimately equated efforts to promote access to
education for racial minorities with discriminatory practices against Whites and
advanced the rhetoric of “White innocence” (Ross, 1990b), marking an important
shift in judicial decision making that has had consequences for admissions practices
and diversity research that persist to this day.
As Garces (2014a) has noted, before Bakke, early affirmative action efforts were
grounded in the need to address racial inequities created by racial segregation
policies and other exclusionary laws. The efforts of the Civil Rights Movement
culminated in the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and various executive orders for
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 23

affirmative action. These laws focused on ensuring access to higher education and
employment for African American, Latinx, American Indian, Asian American, and
White women in fields where they were underrepresented. The laws, designed to
address the effects of discrimination, gave the federal government the authority to
bring a civil action against institutions that failed to take steps to racially integrate,
and to withhold federal funds from school systems that failed to desegregate
(Minow, 2010). In the late 1960s and early 1970s, reinforcing efforts by the
executive and legislative branches of government, the U.S. Supreme Court made
rulings to enforce racial desegregation and stop the delaying tactics used by some
school districts (Minow, 2010). The Court authorized federal courts to institute
comprehensive desegregation plans across the South and the North, essentially
ordering that race be considered in education policies to remedy the effects of
government-enforced (de jure) segregation in both K–12 and higher education.
In the absence of de jure segregation, institutions of higher education began
adopting race-conscious admissions practices to address discrimination and racial/
ethnic inequities. Race-conscious practices where segregation was not the result of
an official government policy but of other structural factors, such as housing
patterns, then became the focus of challenges and litigation. Litigation in this area
culminated in 1978 with Bakke, which involved a challenge to the University of
California, Davis, School of Medicine’s consideration of race in its admissions
decisions. (The school reserved 16 of 100 places for disadvantaged minority stu-
dents.) In contrast to other institutions with a history of legally enforced segregation,
the medical school had adopted its race-conscious admissions policy to remedy
inequities and address the effects of societal discrimination.
Allan Bakke, a White student who had been denied admission to the medical
school twice, challenged the race-conscious policy on the grounds that it violated the
Equal Protection Clause of the 14th Amendment. The school sought to defend the
policy on the grounds that it was needed to (a) address the effects of past discrim-
ination practices and existing racial and ethnic inequities in higher education;
(b) improve the delivery of healthcare services by increasing the number of physi-
cians who would practice in communities currently underserved; (c) reduce the
deficit of traditionally disfavored minorities in medical school and in the medical
profession; and (d) obtain the educational benefits that flow from having an ethni-
cally diverse student body. In six separate opinions with no clear majority and a
controlling opinion by Justice Powell, the Court applied strict scrutiny, a legal test
that had not previously been applied to affirmative action policies, and ultimately
rejected all but the last of these four justifications—the educational benefits of
diversity.2

2
The vote in Bakke was 4-1-4. Powell agreed with one four-Justice block on some aspects of the
case and with the other four-Justice block on others. Thus, his rationale constituted the controlling
opinion, as it resulted in a majority vote on the various legal issues. For a detailed analysis of
Powell’s rationale, see Garces (2014a).
24 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

Bakke established an important shift in constitutional jurisprudence by applying

strict scrutiny to decide the case (Garces, 2014a). In considering the constitutionality
of a policy under the 14th Amendment, a court will apply one of three legal tests,
also known as standards of review: rational basis, intermediate scrutiny, or strict
scrutiny. A rational basis standard is the lowest level of review and the easiest to
satisfy; the Court will uphold the policy if the institution is pursuing a “legitimate”
objective and there is a “rational relation” between the means chosen and the
objective. Under intermediate scrutiny, the objective needs to be “important” and
the means need to be “substantially related” to the objective. Strict scrutiny is the
highest level of review and the hardest to meet. It requires a “compelling interest”
and means that are “narrowly tailored” to this objective. The Court applies this
standard to “smoke out” illegitimate use of race (i.e., racial classification) by
ensuring that the institution “is pursuing a goal important enough to warrant use of
a highly suspect tool” (Johnson v. California, 2005).3
When Bakke was argued, the precedent for which of these legal tests should apply
was unclear, with opposing sides arguing for different standards (Garces, 2014a).
Ultimately, in its splintered 4-1-4 decision, the Court applied the strict scrutiny
standard to assess constitutionality, thus requiring that the admissions policy further
a compelling interest in a manner that was narrowly tailored to that interest. By
extending the Court’s strictest review to policies that were implemented to include
racial minorities—as opposed to policies that were intended only to exclude racial
minorities—the Court equated efforts to advance equality for Blacks and other
marginalized populations with efforts that could be discriminatory against Whites.
This shift thus provided a constitutional justification for individuals to challenge
race-conscious policies as discriminatory against Whites (Garces, 2014a).
In an analysis of the Bakke decision, legal scholar Thomas Ross (1990a, 1990b)
illustrated how the Court’s rationale underlying this constitutional shift was also
based on a rhetoric of innocence. In particular, it was based on a notion of “White
innocence” (Ross, 1990b) that characterized Whites as innocent victims of affirma-
tive action. In assessing the medical school’s justification for its policy, for example,
Justice Powell wrote about the “patent unfairness of ‘innocent persons. . .asked to
endure. . .[deprivation as] the price of membership in the dominant majority’. . .and
‘forcing innocent persons. . .to bear the burdens of redressing grievances not of their
making’” (Ross, 1990a, p. 302). Ross (1990a, 1990b) demonstrated how such
rhetoric—which questioned Black victimization—allowed the Court to avoid ques-
tions that called for a more complex understanding of affirmative action. These
questions involved more realistic understandings of the benefits White individuals
have experienced from the oppression of people of color and the advantages they
continue to experience in myriad ways.

3
Even when a policy is “race neutral” under this legal definition, the strict scrutiny standard may
apply if the court finds that the policy was motivated by racial or ethnic factors (see, e.g., Hunter
v. Underwood, 1985). Under a legal definition, a policy is race-neutral when the language of the
policy does not explicitly confer a benefit to an individual (such as an offer of admission) based on
that individual’s race or ethnicity.
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 25

The one interest that Justice Powell found “compelling”—and therefore consti-
tutionally permissible—was the need to further an educational mission by having a
diverse student body. In endorsing this last justification for the educational benefits
of diversity, Powell discussed how diversity contributes to the type of critical
thinking central to the mission and quality of higher education, such as a “robust
exchange of ideas” (Bakke, 1978, p. 313), a principle that is grounded in First
Amendment constitutional principles and the umbrella of academic freedom. On
the question of narrow tailoring (the second part of the strict scrutiny test), Powell
emphasized that the compelling interest of diversity “encompasses a far broader
array of qualifications and characteristics of which racial or ethnic origin is but a
single though important element” (p. 315; emphasis added). He found that because
the set-aside admissions program focused solely on ethnic diversity, it hindered
rather than furthered the “attainment of genuine diversity” and thus was not narrowly
tailored. Justice Powell also held that the policy had to be holistic and flexible, and
that the medical school’s policy operated as a quota and therefore was not constitu-
tionally permissible. For these reasons, he struck down the policy as
unconstitutional.
With his ruling in Bakke, Justice Powell thus established a practice-based shift in
race-conscious admissions, and universities throughout the country modified their
policies to comply with the Court’s requirements (Welch & Gruhl, 1998). No longer
allowed to expressly consider the effects of societal discrimination or racial ineq-
uities to justify voluntarily adopted race-conscious policies, institutions that sought
to expand access for underrepresented populations had to focus their efforts on a
broader notion of diversity, of which race could only be one of a number of factors
considered. With this shift, social science research on diversity, as it is contempo-
rarily understood, emerged.

2.3.2 Early Stages of Diversity Literature Post-Bakke

and Leading to Grutter

2.3.2.1 Early Collaboration Among Legal and Social Science

Communities to Address Ongoing Legal Challenges Post-Bakke

After the Bakke decision, challenges to race-conscious practices in admissions

continued in both the policy arena and the courts, setting the stage for early research
on diversity. In the early to mid-1990s, for example, a number of public policy
initiatives and legal challenges organized and funded by Ward Connerly and
likeminded conservative groups were designed to end the use of race as a factor in
college admissions. In the policy arena at the state level, the University of California
Board of Regents voted to end the use of race and gender in admissions and hiring
practices in 1995 with Special Policy 1. The policy was replaced in 1996 by
Proposition 209, a voter-approved referendum that prohibited affirmative action at
all public postsecondary institutions in California. Soon after, in 1998, voters
26 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

approved a similar initiative in Washington State. Ward Connerly led these efforts as
part of a national campaign to end affirmative action.4 In the courts, a legal challenge
to a race-conscious policy at the University of Texas law school led to the legal
decision in Hopwood v. University of Texas Law School (1996), where, in an
unusual move, the Fifth Circuit refused to extend otherwise binding Supreme
Court precedent in Bakke, concluding instead that the race-conscious policy was
unconstitutional, thereby prohibiting race-conscious admissions in Texas, Missis-
sippi, and Louisiana (Garces, 2015a).
Around the same time, in 1997, Barbara Grutter, a White female applicant, was
denied admission at the University of Michigan Law School. Supported by the
national campaign to end affirmative action, she sued the school to challenge its
admissions policy, which considered race, among other factors, as a characteristic
that could enhance an applicant’s chances of admission. The policy had been
modeled after the type Justice Powell had endorsed in Bakke. Grutter argued that
the race-conscious admissions policy violated the Equal Protection Clause of the
14th Amendment because a higher percentage of minority applicants were admitted
than non-minority applicants with similar test scores. The law school argued that the
policy was needed to further a compelling interest in student body diversity, which
required the enrollment of a “critical mass” of students of color (i.e., more than a
token number) to help diminish the impact of stereotypes. Further, the school
argued, the admissions process met the narrow tailoring requirements of strict
scrutiny because it was based on individualized consideration of every applicant.
Social science research, as we describe in depth in a later section, informed these
arguments. At the same time, Jennifer Gratz filed a separate lawsuit to challenge the
admissions policy at the undergraduate College of Literature, Science, and the Arts,
which awarded extra points to some candidates on the basis of their race.
As these legal challenges were making their way through the lower courts, it
became clear that the ability of postsecondary institutions to consider race as a factor
in admissions would again be reviewed by the U.S. Supreme Court. This led to a
concerted effort among lawyers, civil rights advocates, policymakers, administra-
tors, and scholars to review existing research that could support legal arguments for
affirmative action, and to identify studies that could be done in a relatively short
period of time to fill policy-relevant gaps in the existing literature. Modeled after the
collaboration that had occurred in Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka (1954),
the goal was to unite these diverse stakeholders to assemble compelling social
science evidence that would inform the case and counter anticipated arguments
challenging the use of race as a factor in college admissions.
Researchers involved in this early work came from a variety of fields—econom-
ics, education, law, political science, psychology, public policy, sociology—and

4
Six additional states currently ban the consideration of race as a factor in postsecondary admissions
decisions as a result of similar voter initiatives, legislative efforts, or other avenues: Florida (One
Florida Initiative), Michigan (Proposal 2), Nebraska (Initiative 424), Arizona (Proposition 107),
New Hampshire (House Bill 623), and Oklahoma (Oklahoma Affirmative Action Ban
Amendment).
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 27

included established and emerging scholars. The group was committed to a set of
core values about the continued significance of race and racism in U.S. society, as
well as to the social justice imperative of integration. The work focused broadly on
racial dynamics in society, in educational institutions, and on college campuses (e.g.,
educational equity, race-relations, racial climate, and desegregation). Through their
scholarship, they sought to inform and improve educational theory and practice with
the hope of transforming institutions to make them more equitable and less exclu-
sionary (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b).
Notably, in entering this policy and legal conversation, these scholars made the
choice to be significantly constrained by legal advice on the types of evidence that
would be permissible in the courts. Specifically, many of the social scientists opted
to follow the advice of lawyers who predicted, based on legal precedent, what types
of evidence could be entered in the particular political moment (Jayakumar &
Adamian, 2015b). The advice at the time was to capitalize on the narrow avenue
Bakke left for institutions to justify the consideration of race in admissions—that is,
the educational benefits of diversity. This reframing meant moving away from a
more critical focus on race that centers the experiences of students of color. For
some, this evoked internal (and external) conflict and frustration.
The approach was intended to demonstrate “interest convergence” (Bell, 1980)
on the part of Whites and students of color, wherein policies benefiting students of
color would also be viewed as beneficial to Whites, so as to generate interest on the
part of the Justices to rule in favor of the university. Social scientists thus focused on
documenting the benefits of diversity for all students (e.g., antonio et al., 2004;
Chang, 1997; Gurin, 1999; Gurin et al., 2002; Hurtado, Engberg, Ponjuan, &
Landreman, 2002). Thus began a strategic effort aimed at purposefully building on
previous theory and research related to the educational benefits of diversity. This
entailed executing targeted studies after identifying research questions, modes of
inquiry, and analyses that could generate empirical findings that would be permis-
sible in the legal deliberations. Much of the data were quantitative, accounting for
the intended audience (e.g., the Supreme Court, with relatively conservative-leaning
Justices), what those audiences would perceive as legitimate, and the degree of
generalizability to broader student populations and institutional contexts.

2.3.2.2 Documenting the Educational and Societal Benefits of Diversity

In the context of these legal developments, two key frameworks guided the initial
diversity scholarship on the educational benefits of diversity: (a) a framework by
Gurin (1999) for explaining the impact of diversity on students’ learning, and (b) a
framework by Hurtado et al. (1998, 1999), which incorporated a psychological and
behavioral climate component and a lens for understanding the context for diversity
and educational benefits on college campuses. These two frameworks guided the
diversity and educational benefits literature from its inception and led to the docu-
mentation of a host of individual and societal outcomes, both short- and long-term.
28 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

These included enhanced critical thinking skills, greater cross-racial understanding,

and improved leadership skills for a multiracial society.
Gurin (1999) drew from psychosocial theories of development and cognition, the
college impact literature, and documentation of racial segregation patterns to link
racial diversity to student developmental outcomes. Gurin’s report, filed on behalf of
the University of Michigan in Grutter and Gratz, cited an emerging body of policy-
relevant research linking student body diversity to student learning outcomes and
societal imperatives (e.g., democracy and citizenship). Complementing this work
was Hurtado et al.’s (1998, 1999) ecological perspective that drew attention to the
interconnections between individual, institutional, and social change and provided a
holistic understanding of racially diverse learning environments by situating the
campus experiences of students of color within institutional legacies of exclusion
and discriminatory practices. Extending beyond numeric diversity, Hurtado and her
colleagues outlined a conceptualization of racial climate that was not limited to
perceptions and attitudes, but included the institution’s structure and history as well
as interracial interactions. It assumed that students are educated in contexts that vary
from campus to campus, and that variations in racial climate are shaped by a range of
external and internal forces.
These theoretical perspectives, couched within the educational benefits conver-
sation, re-inserted attention to racism and racist structures into the approach by social
scientists. The scholars doing this early work recognized the limitations in Justice
Powell’s statement and intended to use his own language to shift the discourse about
the diversity rationale (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b). They offered a more
nuanced, contextual, and student-of-color-centered understanding of the relationship
between racial diversity and educational benefits. Unlike Powell’s vision of the
educational benefits equation, where simply admitting more students of color
would result in positive outcomes, these scholars showed that institutional context
and race relations also matter. Thus, while studies examining the educational
benefits of diversity documented such benefits, they also showed, as we discuss in
more detail later, that Powell’s articulation was less than complete (see, for example,
antonio et al., 2004; Chang, 1999; Chang, Witt, Jones, & Hakuta, 2003; Gurin, 1999;
Gurin et al., 2002; Gurin, Nagda, & Lopez, 2004).
It is important to note that the University of Michigan strategy in the Grutter and
Gratz cases included a social justice-oriented shift in the discourse from “diversity”
back to “integration,” and an expansion from “individual benefits” toward “societal
needs” and “national interests” (Lehman, 2004). Patricia Gurin’s expert testimony,
and a wealth of empirical social science research entered as evidence, sought to
support these interests (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b). Gurin’s testimony outlined
a theory of how interactions across racial identity groups stimulate personal and
cognitive development. Importantly, it connected long-established psychosocial and
cognitive theories of development to de facto neighborhood and institutional segre-
gation. The goal was to expand the conversation from a narrow diversity rationale to
include a social justice agenda encompassing institutional responsibility in order to
address racial segregation, thus forming a connection to the legal precedents in the
1954 case of Brown v. Board of Education (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b).
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 29

The social justice strategy also involved a group of student activists and three
pro-affirmative action organizations that participated as intervenors at early stages of
the litigation but that were denied a request to participate in the case at the Supreme
Court level (Harris, 2003; Massie, 2001).5 The student intervenors sought to fore-
ground the Civil Rights roots of affirmative action as a policy designed to address
systemic racial discrimination. They passionately defended the university’s race-
conscious policy as important for furthering diversity, while also critiquing it for
falling short of fully addressing the corrective and remedial purposes of affirmative
action (Berrey, 2015a). They focused on the history of discrimination, the effects of
segregation, and the realities of racial bias that affect admissions to justify the
university’s policies (Berrey, 2015a; Ledesma, 2015). Throughout the litigation,
however, their efforts were viewed as too confrontational, and were relegated to the
margins through a series of concerted efforts by the legal team of the main parties in
the case and university administrators (Berrey, 2015a).

2.3.3 Legal Outcomes in Grutter and Gratz that Shaped

the Next Stages of Diversity Research

After being presented with a record number of amicus briefs in the Grutter case—
some 200 in support of the University of Michigan policies—the Court, in a 5–4
opinion authored by Justice O’Connor, upheld the constitutionality of race-
conscious policies under limited circumstances based, in part, on notions of how
the benefits of diversity accrue to all students, regardless of race. The Court issued a
separate decision in Gratz v. Bollinger (2003) striking down the undergraduate
admissions policy on the grounds that the point system was not flexible enough to
comply with the individualized consideration outlined in Grutter. Together, the
Gratz and Grutter decisions established the parameters for postsecondary institu-
tions to implement the consideration of race as a factor in admissions decisions in a
constitutionally permissible manner. Here, we focus on the Court’s decision in
Grutter, as it outlines the rationale underlying the Court’s endorsement of the
educational benefits of diversity as a goal that justified the university’s race-
conscious policies.

5
The students included 41 Black, Latina/o, Asian Pacific American, Arab American, and White
individuals who were prospective or current law students at the time of the litigation (Massie, 2001).
The organizations included BAMN, which spearheaded the intervention, joined by Law Students
for Affirmative Action and United for Equality and Affirmative Action.
30 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

2.3.3.1 Expanding Endorsed Benefits of Diversity to Include Democratic

Interests

As Justice Powell had ruled in Bakke, the 5–4 Court decision in Grutter found that
universities have a compelling interest in student body diversity. The ruling empha-
sized the notion that institutions should be afforded the freedom to select a student
body that will contribute most to a “robust exchange of ideas” (p. 329, quoting
Bakke), that student body diversity promotes “‘cross-racial understanding,’ helps to
break down racial stereotypes, and ‘enables [students] to better understand persons
of different races,’” and that “classroom discussion is livelier, more spirited, and
simply more enlightening and interesting when the students have the greatest
possible variety of backgrounds” (p. 329, quoting lower court record). The Court
cited research studies showing that student body diversity “better prepares students
for an increasingly diverse workforce and society, and better prepares them as
professionals” (p. 330, citing Brief of American Educational Research Association
et al., 2003; see also Bowen & Bok, 1998; Orfield & Kurlaender, 2001; Chang et al.,
2003).
While reaffirming the underlying justification for why diversity serves a compel-
ling interest in Bakke (i.e., educational benefits), the Court’s rationale in Grutter
further expanded the justification for race-conscious admissions policies by empha-
sizing that student body diversity is important not only for improved learning out-
comes but also for the role it plays in sustaining U.S. democracy (i.e., democratic/
societal benefits; Garces, 2014a, 2015a). Indeed, the majority opinion emphasized
the role of universities, and professional schools in particular, including law schools,
in providing “the training ground for a large number of our Nation’s leaders”
(Grutter, 2003, p. 332). The Court stressed the need for these institutions to extend
opportunities to individuals of all races and ethnicities so that members of our
society can have “confidence in the openness and integrity of the educational
institutions that provide this training” (Grutter, 2003, p. 332). With this expanded
rationale, the Court recognized the important role postsecondary institutions play in
sustaining the health of U.S. democracy by having a student body that more closely
reflects the nation’s racial and ethnic diversity. The rationale also brought to the
forefront the important role that racial and ethnic diversity plays in graduate studies,
as graduate degrees are prerequisites to several professions and, often, to positions of
influence and power in American society. Racial diversity in graduate studies can
also contribute to a more racially diverse professoriate, which is critical for fostering
creativity and innovation as well as generating more complex knowledge (Page,
2007).
This expanded rationale illustrates the likely influence of the early research on
diversity in informing the Court’s support of the benefits of diversity for individuals
as well as for society. Notably, the argument about the importance of diversity for
democracy likely also gained traction as it aligned with the amicus briefs filed by
65 of the nation’s top corporations and military leaders articulating the advantages of
diversity to the workforce and society (Coleman, 2004). In fact, it was clear from
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 31

Justice O’Connor’s opinion in Grutter (2003) that, in addition to social science

research, corporate and national interests played an integral role in the defense of
affirmative action in the eyes of the Court. In this way, the language of national
security, although embedded in racist policies and practices, served as an entry point
for advocacy.

2.3.3.2 A Focus on Critical Mass and the Means for Attaining Racial
Diversity

Importantly, the Court in Grutter (2003) agreed with the university’s asserted need
to have “a critical mass” of Latinx, African American, and Native American students
“who without this commitment might not be represented in [the] student body in
meaningful numbers” (p. 3). The university’s arguments about critical mass drew
from research documenting the harms of stereotype threat and tokenism. The Court
acknowledged that in the absence of such a critical mass of same-race peers, students
of color are more vulnerable to social stigma (Steele, 1992, 2010) and are more
likely to experience racial tension (Hurtado, 1992) and tokenism (Kanter, 1977).
Both the majority and dissenting opinions in the Grutter case asserted the need for
more than token numbers of students of color to avoid the harms of racial isolation
and to create the conditions for educational benefits. In Justice Rehnquist’s words, a
critical mass was necessary “[t]o ensure that these minority students do not feel
isolated or like spokespersons for their race; to provide adequate opportunities for
the type of interaction upon which the educational benefits of diversity depend; and
to challenge all students to think critically and reexamine stereotypes” (Grutter,
2003, Rehnquist dissenting, p. 3.).
In Grutter (2003), the Court supported the description of a critical mass as
“meaningful numbers,” “meaningful representation,” and “a number that encourages
underrepresented minority students to participate in the classroom and not feel
isolated,” or “numbers such that underrepresented minority students do not feel
isolated or like spokespersons for their race” (pp. 318–319). Informed by this work,
the Court’s majority opinion noted:
. . .diminishing the force of [racial] stereotypes is both a crucial part of the Law School's
mission, and one that it cannot accomplish with only token numbers of minority students.
Just as growing up in a particular region or having particular professional experiences is
likely to affect an individual’s views, so too is one’s own, unique experience of being a racial
minority in a society, like our own, in which race unfortunately still matters. (Grutter, 2003,
p. 333)

In this way, the Court recognized the role that race plays in shaping students’
experiences and educational pathways.
In Grutter (2003) and Gratz (2003), the Court noted that the consideration of race
serves a compelling interest, and also that such consideration must be done in a
narrowly tailored manner. This narrow tailoring prong of the legal test established in
Bakke (1978) required that the policy (a) involve a flexible, individualized consid-
eration of applicants so that race, while important, was only one of a number of
32 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

factors being considered; (b) not operate as a “rigid quota or a functional equivalent
in the form of a set-aside or a predetermined number of seats for minorities” (Garces
& Jayakumar, 2014, p. 9); (c) give good faith consideration to workable race-neutral
alternatives to the race-conscious policy; (d) not unduly burden disfavored groups;
and (e) be limited in time or include a periodic review to assess necessity (Garces &
Jayakumar, 2014).6 The Court held in Grutter that the law school’s policy satisfied
each of these requirements, specifically noting that narrow tailoring did not require
that every conceivable race-neutral alternative be exhausted.
At the time of the Grutter and Gratz litigation, amicus briefs also presented
evidence to address the “narrow tailoring” part of the legal test. These briefs sought
to demonstrate the limited effectiveness of so-called race-neutral policies, such as
percentage plans, for yielding a student body as racially and ethnically diverse as one
that would be generated if race was considered among many factors in admissions.
This research involved one of the first studies on percentage plans by Horn and
Flores (2003). Justice Ginsburg (joined by Justice Souter) cited the study in her
dissent in Gratz (2003) as evidence that calling such plans race-neutral would be
disingenuous because they were adopted for the specific purpose of increasing racial
and ethnic representation.

2.3.3.3 Endorsing a False Dichotomy Between Selectivity and Diversity

Even as the Court’s rationale in Grutter connected racial diversity to institutional

missions and democratic goals, it endorsed the perspective that diversity and selec-
tivity are two options between which institutions must decide (Garces, 2014a;
Solórzano & Yosso, 2002). In defending the limited use of race in admissions, the
university stated that it did not need to abandon “selectivity” as a “core part” of its
mission to achieve racially diverse learning environments (Brief for Respondents in
Grutter, 2003). The university argued that “overruling Bakke would force this
Nation’s finest institutions to choose between dramatic resegregation and completely
abandoning the demanding standards that have made American education the envy
of the world” (Brief for Respondents in Grutter, 2003, p. 13). The university did not
question whether its reliance on standardized tests in admissions discriminated
against racial minorities, nor did it propose relying less on these measures as a
way to attain racial diversity. In its opinion, the Court agreed with the university’s
arguments, emphasizing that the university need not choose “between maintaining a
reputation for excellence or fulfilling a commitment to provide educational oppor-
tunities to members of all racial groups” (Grutter, 2003, p. 309). However, by
agreeing with the university’s argument, the Court essentially enforced the notion

6
Although the Court emphasized that the practice needed to be limited in time or subject to periodic
review, in what has become an oft-quoted sentence, the Court also stated that it “expects that
25 years from now, the use of racial preferences will no longer be necessary to further the interest
approved today” (Grutter, 2003, p. 343).
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 33

that diversity and selectivity are mutually exclusive. Because selectivity is viewed as
a proxy for educational quality, endorsing a dichotomy between diversity and
selectivity essentially endorses a chasm between diversity and educational quality
(Garces, 2014a).
A number of other organizations and groups that filed briefs in support of the
university’s policy had advanced arguments that did not frame the goals of diversity
and selectivity as requiring a choice. These organizations included groups like
BAMN, the United Negro College Fund, the National Center for Fair & Open
Testing, and the Society of American Law Teachers. They focused instead on the
disparate racial impact of the LSAT and SAT and the role of these racially biased
admissions criteria in perpetuating racial inequities in education—an issue we
discuss in greater detail later in the chapter. Fundamentally, these groups questioned
whether White applicants with higher standardized test scores were in fact more
qualified for admission than minority applicants with lower test scores, and whether
the admission of racial minorities with lower test scores was discriminatory against
Whites with higher test scores. They argued that the university’s admissions policy
was not used to create an exception to quality but was needed to address the law
school’s otherwise biased admissions criteria. They also affirmed the importance of
affirmative action policies in continuing the racial gains brought about by the civil
rights movement (see, for example, Brown-Nagin, 2005).
Interestingly, Justice Thomas’s dissent highlighted the “Law School’s refusal to
entertain changes to its current admissions system that might produce. . .educational
benefits,” noting that “if the Law School is correct that the educational benefits of
‘diversity’ are so great, then achieving them by altering admissions standards should
not compromise its elite status” (Grutter, 2003, p. 355, 356n4). Justice Thomas’s
dissent highlighted an important contradiction between the goal of the university—
racial diversity—and the means it employed to further this interest—measures of
achievement strongly correlated to race and class that reflect unequal advantages (see
Brown-Nagin, 2005). His argument highlighted the point that the choice need not be
between diversity and selectivity or quality, but between diversity and biased, poor
measures of merit (Garces, 2014a).

2.3.4 Stages of Diversity Research Post-Grutter, to Fisher

and Post-Fisher: Pushing Within the Constraints
of the Legal Framework

Next we describe how some scholarship since Grutter (2003) has actively attempted
to address these legal developments and reshape the diversity rationale toward a
greater acknowledgment of the ongoing role that race continues to play in students’
educational experiences and interactions. The educational benefits of diversity, as
framed by Justice Powell in Bakke, and again in Grutter, focus on the relationship
“between numbers [of students of color on campus] and achieving the benefits to be
34 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

derived from a diverse student body, and between numbers [of students of color on
campus] and providing a reasonable environment for those students admitted”
(Bakke, 1978, p. 324). While Powell acknowledged the importance of the environ-
ment for achieving benefits, he did not elaborate, adding only that “unplanned,
casual encounters” within a diverse student body can lead to “improved understand-
ing and personal growth” (p. 313). Powell further argued, “it is hard to know how,
and when, and even if, this informal ‘learning through diversity’ actually occurs”
(p. 313).
Scholars have deliberately reframed two points from Powell’s statements—
whether “learning through diversity actually occurs” and the relationship between
numbers and benefits.7 For example, studies since Grutter (2003) have sought to
empirically demonstrate the role of campus racial climate and other conditions that
reflect a supportive institutional environment for students of color (for a review of
this literature, see Garces & Jayakumar, 2014). These studies showed that higher
education has a compelling interest in enrolling a racially diverse student body, but
the associated educational benefits are not guaranteed; rather, they rest upon insti-
tutions creating the conditions that promote such learning outcomes within particular
institutional contexts. This work countered Powell’s dismissive statement—“‘diver-
sity,’ whatever it means”—in the Bakke (1978, p. 355) opinion and began to
construct a more complete picture that attended to the dynamic relationship between
students and their learning environments. Below, we review select literature to
illustrate how researchers working within a constrained legal framework have
deliberately sought to expand the understanding of diversity.

2.3.4.1 A More Comprehensive Focus on Cross-Racial Interactions

One way researchers have strategically documented the encounters Justice Powell
referenced in Bakke (1978) as providing wide exposure to ideas (p. 312) is by
measuring undergraduate students’ frequency of interactions with peers who do
not identify as the same race, or what we and others refer to as students’ frequency
of cross-racial interactions. Researchers have also capitalized on the Court’s asser-
tion in Grutter (2003) about the need for adequate racial representation as a window
of opportunity to further clarify the harmful effects of racial isolation and stereotype
threat, harms that are connected to the undermining of cross-racial interactions,
classroom participation, and the subsequent positive outcomes associated with racial
diversity. This area of diversity research is rooted in a rich body of sociological and
psychological scholarship concerning residential, employment, and school desegre-
gation. In a meta-analysis of this literature, for example, Pettigrew and Tropp (2006)

7
We recognize that equating students of color to numbers contributes to a dehumanizing discourse.
Shifting the conversation necessitates utilizing the problematic terminology, however. Therein lies
a major tension for scholars and lawyers working within the legal system to undo unjust practices,
particularly in the context of a politically conservative Court (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b).
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 35

showed that cross-racial interactions significantly reduce prejudice across a variety

of samples and situations.
In fact, cross-racial interactions have been closely studied in higher education
(pre- and post-Grutter) and have shown to be positively associated with a wide range
of student outcomes. These outcomes include improved academic skills (Denson &
Chang, 2009; Gurin, 1999; Gurin et al., 2002; Hu & Kuh, 2003; Luo & Jamieson-
Drake, 2009); academic and social self-concept (antonio, 2004; Chang, 1999;
Chang, Astin, & Kim, 2004; Chang, Denson, Sáenz, & Misa, 2006; Denson &
Chang, 2009; Gurin et al., 2002; Nelson Laird, 2005); cognitive outcomes (antonio
et al., 2004; Chang et al., 2006; Denson & Zhang, 2010; Gurin et al., 2002; Nelson
Laird, 2005); personal growth and development (Hu & Kuh, 2003; Luo & Jamieson-
Drake, 2009); teamwork and leadership skills (Denson & Zhang, 2010); prejudice
reduction (Gottfredson, Panter, Daye, Allen, & Wightman, 2009; Zúñiga, Williams,
& Berger, 2005); reduced social distance (Odell, Korgen, & Wang, 2005); perceived
exposure to diverse ideas (antonio et al., 2004; Gottfredson et al., 2009); racial/
cultural understanding and engagement (antonio, 2001; Astin, 1993; Chang et al.,
2006; Denson & Chang, 2009; Denson & Zhang, 2010; Gurin, 1999; Gurin et al.,
2002; Hu & Kuh, 2003); pluralistic orientation (Engberg, 2007; Engberg & Hurtado,
2011; Jayakumar, 2008); social agency and civic development (Astin, 1993; Bow-
man, 2011; Chang et al., 2004; Gurin, 1999; Gurin et al., 2002; Hurtado, et al., 2002;
Nelson Laird, 2005; Zúñiga et al, 2005); retention (Chang, 1999); well-being
(Bowman, 2010); and satisfaction with college (Astin, 1993; Chang, 1999; Luo &
Jamieson-Drake, 2009).
Rare or superficial interracial interactions are not likely to lead to positive out-
comes, however, because they can instead produce biased conclusions, such as
attributions of counter-stereotypical behavior to circumstance or coincidence
(Sekaquaptewa, Espinoza, Thompson, Vargas, & von Hippel, 2003; Seta, Seta, &
McElroy, 2003), or to solidify previously held stereotypes (Berndsen, Spears, van
der Pligt, & McGarty, 2002; Stroessner & Plaks, 2001). A large connected area of
scholarship on intergroup dialogues (most recently presented in the litigation in
Fisher, as noted below) provides evidence based on quasi-experimental design
methodology that cross-racial interactions most effectively lead to prejudice reduc-
tion when there is facilitated dialogue that highlights similarities and differences
across groups and an understanding of race and racism (Gurin et al., 2013).
While these findings make the case that encounters with people of different races
contribute to undergraduate learning, they do not directly address what Powell
referred to as the relationship “between numbers [of students of color on campus]
and achieving the benefits to be derived from a diverse student body” (Bakke, 1978,
p. 324). Although research pre-Grutter supported the notion that student body racial
diversity is a prerequisite for the type of intergroup relationships thought to foster
educational benefits (Hurtado et al., 1999; Chang, 1999), other research has
contended that increasing racial diversity causes students to self-segregate into
separate subgroups and not interact across race (Bloom, 1986; D’Souza, 1991;
Thernstrom & Thernstrom, 1997). The conditions that lead to either self-segregation
or interracial interaction were not clear within the empirical findings (Chang et al.,
36 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

2006). This relationship is especially important because the diversity rationale rests
on evidence that increasing the numbers of students of color on campus will increase
frequency of cross-racial interactions and, in turn, add value to the educational
environment in ways that enrich all students’ learning.

2.3.4.2 Understanding the Connections Between Institutional Context

and Cross-Racial Interactions

In addition to more research documenting the benefits of cross-racial understanding,

a number of studies have established a connection between the racialized experi-
ences of students of color and the educational benefits of diversity. This research
served to challenge conservative voices in the Court, such as those of Justices
Thomas and Scalia, and other critics who suggested that diversity led only to racial
balkanization. Campus racial climate plays a mediating role in determining whether
increasing student body racial diversity leads to cross-racial engagement or self-
segregation (Jayakumar, 2008). Based on structural equation modeling of 10-year
longitudinal data, for example, Jayakumar (2008) showed that increased represen-
tation of students of color (numeric diversity) is directly and highly associated with a
positive racial climate, but on its own is not associated with an increased likelihood
that White individuals will engage in cross-racial interactions.
Denson and Chang (2009) similarly used hierarchical linear modeling to further
explore the unique contextual effect between campus climate and interracial inter-
actions. The authors anticipated and challenged a conservative assertion that insti-
tutions could achieve desired benefits without enrolling sufficient numbers of
students of color by attending to the campus racial climate. Their study documented
that, at the institutional level, a peer group average measure of cross-racial interac-
tions had a significant positive effect on racial-cultural engagement. This finding
suggests that while both are related, individual-level encounters are relatively more
important to individual development than the broader context of race relations on
campus. Overall, they confirmed the findings of two previous studies (Engberg,
2007; Nelson Laird, 2005) that also asserted the importance of positive quality
interactions in enhancing students’ academic self-concept and social agency.
These studies and others (for example, Chang, 1997; Gurin 1999; Milem & Hakuta,
2000) generated policy-relevant quantitative evidence—which, as we note later, was
cited in the amicus briefs filed in Fisher—about the contextual relationship between
what Justice Powell called “numbers and benefits,” showing that it is not hypothet-
ical but rather empirically linked to campus climate.

2.3.4.3 Centering the Experiences of Students of Color and Focusing

on Institutional Responsibility

Another important line of research that continued post-Grutter involved centering

the experiences of students of color with research to demonstrate that they
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 37

experience a more hostile racial climate than White students (e.g., Cabrera, Nora,
Terenzini, Pascarella, & Hagedorn, 1999; Fischer, 2010; Harper & Hurtado, 2007;
Hurtado, 1992; Rankin & Reason, 2005), and that a negative climate compromises
the growth and development of all students (Cabrera et al., 1999; Carter & Hurtado,
1997; Harper & Hurtado, 2007; Jayakumar, 2008; Nora & Cabrera, 1996; Pascarella
& Terenzini, 2005). Indeed, quantitative studies post-Grutter and pre-Fisher
documented that students who report negative racial experiences are more likely to
experience a lower sense of belonging in the first 2 years of college (Hurtado et al.,
2007; Locks, Hurtado, Bowman, & Oseguera, 2008) and overall dissatisfaction with
the college experience (Miller & Sujitparapitaya, 2010). The literature also
documented the impact of climate perceptions on the academic adjustment and
quality of engagement in all campus environments for students of color (Cabrera
et al., 1999; Carter & Hurtado, 1997; Museus, Palmer, Davis, & Maramba, 2011;
Pascarella & Terenzini, 2005), including the classroom environment (Quaye,
Tambascia, & Talesh, 2009). In Fisher, as we discuss below, this argument was
expanded to the classroom level to underscore the effects of racial isolation on the
personal and educational experiences of students of color and on engagement and
educational benefits for all students.
Adding to the ecological perspective that informed the Grutter litigation that was
first advanced by Hurtado et al. (1998, 1999), Milem et al. (2005) added the
dimension of organizational structure, pointing to institutional norms, policies, and
practices that protect and perpetuate inequitable schooling conditions and outcomes.
More recently, Hurtado, Alvarez, Guillermo-Wann, Cuellar, and Arellano (2012)
further developed the framework to incorporate social identity and power relations
among actors. Other scholars have more distinctly explored the types of interactions
and facilitated experiences that contribute to the kind of institutional capacity and
responsibility that helps realize the educational benefits of diversity. Collectively,
these studies have shown, for example, that campuses with higher levels of cross-
racial interactions within the student body have in place a curriculum that reflects the
historical and contemporary experiences of people of color, programs that support
recruitment and retention, and an institutional mission that reinforces a commitment
to pluralism and racial equity (Allen & Solórzano, 2001; Gurin et al., 2013; Hale,
2004; Hurtado, Dey, Gurin, & Gurin, 2003; Richardson & Skinner, 1990; Smith
et al., 1997). Such campuses, scholars have argued, are intentional about recruiting
and retaining a racially diverse student body, attending to their historical legacy of
exclusion, incorporating ethnic studies curricula more broadly, and facilitating
positive intergroup relationships and a positive racial climate (Hurtado et al.,
1999; Hurtado et al., 2012; Jayakumar & Museus, 2012; Milem et al., 2005).
The research related to the diversity rationale in support of the University of
Texas in Fisher further connected the benefits to studies centering the experiential
realities of students of color. Scholars connected to a social justice imperative by
pulling in studies on microaggressions and counterspaces, for example. They dem-
onstrated that the classroom, an important focus of the university’s argument, is a
particularly vulnerable site for racial microaggressions—that is, relatively subtle,
indirect insults and forms of discrimination that can appear innocuous but have
38 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

cumulative negative weight and consequences (see Lewis, Chesler, & Forman,
2000; McCabe, 2009; Solórzano, Allen, & Carroll, 2002; Yosso, Smith, Ceja, &
Solórzano, 2009). Likewise, counterspaces, settings that support the psychological
well being of students who experience discrimination, are particularly important
when there is a lack of critical mass and associated hostile climates for students of
color who occupy token status in the classroom and beyond (McCabe, 2009; Yosso
et al., 2009). Garces and Jayakumar’s (2014) review of diversity rationale-related
research exemplifies how this and other scholarship on racial climate and centering
the experiences of students of color informed the legal questions in Fisher. Notably,
relatively more qualitative work centering the voices of students of color was used to
frame the arguments in Fisher, although quantitative studies were still privileged and
strategically utilized to draw broader conclusions and to support qualitative findings.

2.3.5 Legal Outcomes in Fisher That Need to Be Considered

for Next Stages of Diversity Research

In this section, we address the implications of the Court’s Fisher decisions on

diversity-related research moving forward. In its review of the case, the Court issued
two separate decisions, one in 2013 (Fisher I) and another in 2016 (Fisher II). (For
an overview of the cases, see Garces, 2016.) Overall, these decisions had the
practical effect of requiring institutions to more fully document whether they are
obtaining the educational benefits of diversity (Garces, 2015b), a move that requires
that they not only attain numerical representation of students of color, but also
promote the type of racial climate and environment that facilitates the benefits of
diversity (Garces & Jayakumar, 2014). The decisions, however, also remind insti-
tutions of the need to explore race-neutral alternatives to obtain racial and ethnic
diversity, a requirement that represents a colorblind approach, and, as we discuss in
more detail in later sections, has important consequences for diversity research
moving forward.

2.3.5.1 Expanding Diversity Efforts to Focus on Inclusion

While emphasizing the benefits of diversity as articulated in Bakke and Grutter—

such as the destruction of stereotypes, promotion of cross-racial understanding,
preparation of the student body for a diverse workforce and society, and the
cultivation of leaders with legitimacy in the eyes of the citizenry—the Court’s
decision in Fisher II (2016) referenced the university’s efforts to provide an
“academic environment” and “educational setting” that allows for these benefits to
occur. As Justice Kennedy wrote in the majority opinion, “Increasing minority
enrollment may be instrumental to [the] educational benefits [of diversity],” but so
is “provid[ing] an educational setting that fosters cross-racial understanding. . .[and]
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 39

enlightened discussion and learning” (Fisher II, 2016, p. 2211). The decision also
introduced the importance of considering student experience as part of the regular
evaluation that institutions need to undergo to continue to justify race-conscious
admissions policies. In doing so, the Court’s decision focused on the experiences of
students in a way that prior decisions on affirmative action had not, and shifted from
a numbers-focused diversity approach to one that also considers efforts to promote
what scholars and postsecondary administrators refer to as “inclusion” on campus.
In the K–12 context, the concept of inclusion is related to the notion of multicul-
turalism, particularly in curriculum and pedagogy (e.g., Banks, 2008; Blum, 2001).
In the higher education context, however, the concept has not been clearly defined
across the literature. Tienda (2013), one of the few scholars to include a specific
definition, distinguished inclusion from diversity, defining it as “organizational
strategies and practices that promote meaningful social and academic interactions
among persons and groups who differ in their experiences, their views, and their
traits” (p. 467). Museus (2014) described the value of racially inclusive and cultur-
ally engaging environments and provided a definition of inclusion focused on “the
extent to which campus environments engage the cultural identities of racially
diverse student populations and reflect the needs of these students” (p. 209). We
would add to these prior definitions of inclusion a focus on creating conditions that
trouble dominant status privilege and safety, wherin pervasive norms of prioritizing
the voices and comforts of White students and others who maintain dehumanizing
views about people and communities of color remain unchallenged (Leonardo &
Porter, 2010).
Other diversity-related frameworks that call for a shift from “diversity-minded” to
“equity-minded” policy and practice (e.g., Dowd & Bensimon, 2015; Jayakumar &
Museus, 2012) can also be related to this concept of inclusion; equity-minded
practices bring attention to the importance of addressing past and present racial
discrimination and moving toward practices that address the oppression of
minoritized students in education. These frameworks center the experiences of
students of color within specific institutional contexts that may be shaped by
exclusionary practices (i.e., those that reinforce the status quo/White privilege, and
that intentionally or unintentionally signal to non-dominant status students that they
are not welcome). Inclusionary practices, by contrast, are those that move toward
racial equity as it relates to systems of power, policy-making processes, and orga-
nizational culture at both the institutional (e.g., mission statements, strategic plans,
curricula, etc.) and broader state and federal levels (Museus et al., 2015).
While related, inclusion can be distinguished from “inclusive excellence,” which
Williams et al. (2005) connected to how campus environments adapt to meet the
needs of today’s highly diverse entering students. Their definition incorporates the
Association of American Colleges and Universities definition of inclusive excel-
lence, which consists of four primary elements: (a) a focus on student intellectual and
social development; (b) a purposeful development and utilization of organizational
resources to enhance student learning; (c) attention to the cultural differences
learners bring to the educational experience and that enhance the enterprise; and
40 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

(d) a welcoming community that engages all of its diversity in the service of student
and organizational learning.
Beyond the lack of an explicit definition, a commonality across studies that relate
to inclusion has to do with the conditions that need to be in place for the educational
benefits of diversity to occur (see Garces & Jayakumar, 2014). These conditions
include the importance of attending to the institutional context and historical legacies
of exclusion that characterize traditionally White institutions, or TWIs8 (Hurtado
et al., 1998, 1999; Milem et al., 2005), as well as the need to nurture cross-racial
interactions that contribute to learning and reduce prejudice (Gurin et al., 2013). In
addition to practices such as supporting ethnic studies programs, diverse student
organizations, academic support programs, and multicultural programs, efforts
would also require generating greater awareness among White students and pre-
dominantly White student organizations about systems of privilege (see, for exam-
ple, Garces & Jayakumar, 2014). Importantly, the Court’s rationale in Fisher II
(2016) reflects this definition of inclusion as supported by decades of research,
research that was submitted to inform the Court’s deliberation in the case. Evidence
of these inclusion efforts will be critical to justifying future race-conscious admis-
sions policies, as was the case for the University of Texas at Austin in Fisher II.

2.4 Part II: Accounting for Interest Convergence

and Critical Race Critiques

2.4.1 Interest Convergence, Constriction, and Expansion:

Possibilities and Limitations

As we mentioned in Part I, affirmative action victories based on the diversity

rationale, such as in Grutter (2003), capitalized on the notion of interest conver-
gence, wherein policies that advance opportunity for people of color are seen as in
alignment with those that advance the interests of the majority (Bell, 1980). Follow-
ing the Court’s decision in Bakke (1978), for example, some affirmative action
advocates and social scientists viewed the diversity rationale as the best approach
for defending affirmative action in anticipated future attacks. This led to a concerted

8
We use “traditionally White institution,” instead of “predominantly White institution.” The
increase in student of color populations can mean that institutions with previously majority-White
student populations are no longer predominantly White. However, these institutions (unless
transformed) maintain a legacy of exclusionary structures and oftentimes continue to uphold
exclusionary traditions and cultures. Notably, TWIs would include those newly designated as
minority- or Hispanic-Serving Institutions if their origins were rooted in traditional White (male)
populations and culture. Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) and Tribal Colleges
and Universties (TCUs) fall outside the TWI category because they were never segregationist
institutions, but were founded with the goal of providing access to education for people who were
excluded from traditional colleges.
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 41

effort among social scientists to explore particular questions aligned with political
lawyering practice that could be used within the limited legal paradigm in prepara-
tion for the defense of affirmative action involving the University of Michigan in
Grutter and Gratz. (For reflections from those involved in the initial social scientists
strategy, see Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015b.) This defense included, in part,
documenting the benefits of diversity for White students, so as to demonstrate an
interest convergence on the part of White students and students of color and thereby
generate interest on the part of the Justices to rule in favor of the university (Garces
& Gordon da Cruz, 2017).
As scholars such as Bell (2005) have demonstrated, however, the Court’s deci-
sion in Grutter also came with substantial compromises. The decision reinforced a
divide between the goal of fostering racial diversity and of addressing persistent
racial/ethnic inequities in education, while furthering an inaccurate understanding of
racial diversity as something that comes at the expense of educational quality rather
than as something that is necessary to achieve it (Garces, 2014a). Race-conscious
admissions policies, moreover, became a shield that allowed institutions to “retain
policies of admission [standardized test scores like SAT or LSAT] that are woefully
poor measures of quality, but convenient vehicles for admitting the children of
wealth and privilege” (Bell, 2003, p. 1632; see also Guinier, 2015; Soares, 2011).
And, as the findings of more recent diversity research that we summarize below
demonstrate, although meaningfully maintained in Grutter and Gratz collectively,
the practical utility of diversity as a policy has been significantly watered down for
addressing the concerns and needs of students of color (Ahmed, 2012).
Other recent Court decisions regarding race-conscious admissions practices in
higher education, such as Schuette v. Coalition to Defend Affirmative Action (2014)
and Fisher v. University of Texas (2013, 2016), and the policy debate over affirma-
tive action have moved toward a more colorblind orientation that overlooks systemic
inequity (Garces, 2014b; Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017; Jayakumar & Adamian,
2015a). In Schuette, the Court upheld the constitutionality of a ban on race-conscious
policies in admissions in Michigan, reversing a lower court ruling that had found the
ban violated the federal constitutional guarantee of the Equal Protection Clause. In
five different opinions, the Justices outlined extremely varied understandings of how
the Equal Protection Clause should be understood to operate in our democracy, with
equally strong and passionate disagreement about the ways in which race continues
to matter.
Rather than understanding race-conscious policies as a way to further diversity or
to address persistent racial inequality, the various opinions in Schuette (2014)
demonstrated that the majority of the Justices viewed them as “preferences” that
embody rather than address racial discrimination (Garces, 2014b). The use of race in
admissions policies, therefore, is viewed as highly suspect, and, as the Court
articulated in Fisher I (2013) and Fisher II (2016), requires the consideration of
other possible “race-neutral” alternatives before it is considered. Within this
colorblind ahistorical framing, affirmative action is viewed as a policy that prefer-
ences people of color and as reverse discrimination against White students, rather
42 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

than one that seeks to counteract cumulative advantages that occur to dominant
White populations (Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017).
The political climate, moreover, has indeed shifted from where it was nearly a
decade ago when the United States proudly inaugurated its first Black president, and
some heralded in what was believed to be a post-racial era (Bonilla-Silva, 2014). At
the time, any public figure expressing overt racial bigotry would arguably have been
booed off the political stage and out of the public eye. In contrast, the 2016
presidential election cycle revealed voters willing to overlook and even embrace
such bigotry and policies directed at setting back racial progress (Bannan, 2016).
These constituents are largely poor working-class Whites—a group likely to be
further underserved by proposed changes. Yet their support, along with that of the
majority of White men and women of all socioeconomic and educational back-
grounds, can be understood as a response to politicized appeals to White innocence
and a sense of loss of group status.
By White innocence, we mean the notion that White people and the systems that
protect White interests have only an abstract connection—not one with accountabil-
ity—to the subordination and inferior status of Black people and other minoritized
groups (Ross, 1990b). For example, in Brown v. Board of Education (1954), White
innocence was kept intact by the Court acknowledging the harms of racial segrega-
tion to Black children and ignoring the racist intentions and material consequences
of sanctioned segregation (Gotanda, 2004; Ross, 1990a). White innocence erodes
the possibility of an empathetic response to the suffering of Blacks and other people
of color. Further, it leads Whites to believe they are losing something, without
recognition of what they have gained from structural White privilege. White inno-
cence and a sense of loss seem to be increasingly salient in recent affirmative action
cases and on college campuses.
As in Bakke (1978), the Gratz (2003) and Grutter (2003) cases were based on the
premise that a White plaintiff had suffered the loss of a tangible seat at a particular
university. More recently in Fisher I (2013) and Fisher II (2016), however, the Court
treated a perceived loss due to race-conscious admissions as an actual harm. In fact,
members of Fisher’s legal team themselves admitted from the beginning that the
plaintiff would have been rejected from the university regardless of affirmative
action. And on postsecondary campuses, White student groups have emerged in
direct backlash to consciousness raising by the #BlackLivesMatter movement and
student protests demanding institutional attention to racial bias, underrepresentation,
and structural racism. In other words, appeals for greater institutional responsibility
and action toward racial justice have triggered a sense of loss of status among a
growing number of vocal White students. The Union of White Cornell Students, for
example, submitted a set of demands to the administration as “a community of white
students who wish to preserve and advance their race” (Keller, 2016). Their open
letter denouncing Black student demands demonstrates the salience of White racial
resentment.
According to Bell’s (1980) concept of interest convergence, this backlash and
resistance to racial justice is to be expected. After all, from an interest convergence
perspective, affirmative action was never a revolutionary policy that could bring
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 43

about racial justice in higher education; rather, it carried the promise of incremental
progress and momentary racial relief, one that would be depleted as soon as it posed
a threat to the superior status of (mostly middle- and upper-class) Whites. Indeed,
interest convergence has ebbs and flows—moments of expansion where there is a
high level of racial justice potential and moments of constriction, where it severely
wanes (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015a).
A time of racial backlash—of constriction, wherein White interests are seen as
under threat and no longer aligned with racial progress—is upon us (Wise, 2010).
This is evident in the racial climate of the nation, particularly regarding perceptions
of reverse racism and a loss of status among White Americans (Bonilla-Silva, 2014;
Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017; Jayakumar & Adamian, 2017). As Derrick Bell’s
(1992) notion of racial realism reminds us, “only by accepting that racism is real and
operates in different ways at different points in history, can we slowly work toward a
different future that challenges racism and the ways it structures meaningful engage-
ment in important areas of society” (Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017, p. 2). For these
reasons, we can anticipate that any promising social science strategy within the legal
system (and U.S. society at large) will eventually lead to a shift in the hegemonic
context, including progress and new problems that require a new set of solutions and
approaches that account for shifts in manifestations of racism.
CRP-Ed, the theoretical framework that guided our envisioning of the next
generation of diversity scholarship, draws heavily from Bell’s (1980) reflections
on Brown v. Board of Education (1954), and particularly his recognition that racial
progress in the legal system is tied to White elite interests, but that such progress can
come with substantial compromises. Bell called for an understanding of this con-
text—that is, White interests motivating a concession, or, as informed by the notion
of racial realism, White resentment and backlash over perceived threatened status
resulting in the revoking of said progress. While Bell’s groundbreaking concept of
interest convergence, including the notion of racial realism, is important for under-
standing the relationship between policies that promote racial justice and communi-
ties of color, it has been critiqued for its static, prescriptive analysis that falls short
when it comes to considering possibilities for agency and action (Driver, 2011).
Jayakumar and Adamian (2015a) addressed this limitation by drawing from
Freire (1970) to advance their notion of interest convergence expansion. The interest
convergence that led to the desegregation of secondary and postsecondary schooling
was generated by activism and social movement that raised awareness of racial
injustice, both at home and abroad. In other words, grassroots movements rooted in a
critically conscious collective struggle created the disequilibrium and incentive that
brought about the potential for incremental racial progress to transpire within the
legal system. Thus, awareness raising produced through agency enacted by
oppressed peoples can be destabilizing and threatening to the interests of those in
power, creating the space and opportunity—the expansion—for a concession to be
made in order to bring interests back to equilibrium (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015a).
In the present post-Fisher moment—a moment of interest convergence constric-
tion with regard to racial equity in higher education—the work of critical race
scholars amongst others can provide a critique of the limitations of diversity
44 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

research; it can generate the basis for a critical consciousness that names the current
contexts and hegemonic structures. Naming and understanding the particular chal-
lenges of the current policy context can help propel interest convergence expansion,
leading to greater possibility for policy changes that advance racial justice. CRP-Ed
requires recognizing where such interest convergence is happening, and then
leveraging this for change in more constricted contexts, including the current
colorblind policy context (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015a). To better understand
the challenges of addressing racism as it is playing out in this particular moment of
postsecondary racial inequality, we explore the critiques of a diversity-based frame-
work and the challenges we face.

2.4.2 Research Critiquing the Limitations of Diversity

and Ramifications of Court Rulings Perpetuating
Colorblindness

Arguing that the diversity conversation must be expanded beyond race is a common
strategy to derail the imperative of addressing racial inequality in higher education.
Social science research plays a critical role in challenging this co-optation and
dilution of diversity. As we will demonstrate in this section, the term diversity in
higher education has been redefined to capture difference in terms of gender,
religion, sexual orientation, disability, veteran status, and geographic location, to
name a few, without attention to how these differences—particularly around race
and ethnicity—determine levels of privilege and power in society (Allen, 2011;
Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017; Warikoo, 2016). Indeed, we have yet to see a clear
focus on transforming institutions so that students of color are truly supported and
their needs are met (Ahmed, 2012; Dowd & Bensimon, 2015; Leonardo & Porter,
2010). There are also biases and roadblocks, particularly for White faculty and
students, when it comes to meaningful engagement concerning White privilege
and power. Addressing these challenges toward facilitating race dialogues that are
humanizing for students of color is absolutely necessary, however, in order for
meaningful interactions across race to take place (Leonardo & Porter, 2010; Single-
ton, 2013). As scholars have asserted, the overarching framework for both K–12 and
postsecondary education relies on a deficit-based orientation—one that calls for
“fixing” students of color so that they can achieve traditional educational success
or assimilate into dominant spaces, instead of addressing inequitable structures,
systems, policies, and practices that contribute to racially disparate outcomes that
preserve White status privilege (Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017; Harper, 2010;
Yosso, 2005).
Given the constraints of the contemporary legal landscape, proponents of diver-
sity have had to walk the tightrope between advancing a legally and publically
acceptable version of diversity and highlighting the persistence of racial injustice.
Researchers have documented how this tension has at times resulted in diversity
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 45

efforts that highlight the former at the omission of the latter (Warikoo, 2016),
reflecting the limited ability of current Court rulings to speak to the continued
realities of racism and racialization. While a vision of diversity research and practice
that incorporates explicit recognition of racism and racial realities is in alignment
with the underlying need for a diversity-based rationale, the execution of such a
vision has been more elusive. The legal framework for examining the constitution-
ality of race-conscious policies calls for an ahistorical definition of diversity that
ignores the links between present-day racial and ethnic inequities and past (persis-
tent) legacies of exclusion. Further, as scholars have documented, a vision of
diversity that does not explicitly address racism and the ways that race continues
to shape students’ educational experiences and opportunities has led many institu-
tions to advance a watered down vision of diversity—one that allows for a symbolic
commitment to the numeric representation of students of color while bypassing
systemic changes and interventions that address racial inequality or discrimination
(Ahmed, 2012; Garces & Bilyalov, in press).
Various scholars have documented how diversity-related discourse has been
exploited to avoid the more difficult issues of race and racism (Ahmed, 2012;
Leonardo & Porter, 2010; Warikoo, 2016). In some cases, they have maintained
that the rising prominence of “diversity” has upheld White supremacy, or at mini-
mum, left it unchallenged (Berrey, 2015b). This critique extends to efforts to create
inclusive campus environments and racial dialogues. Scholars such as Cabrera,
Watson, and Franklin (2016) and Leonardo and Porter (2010) have used critical
methodologies to make important contributions to our understanding of the broader
political context surrounding diversity and inclusion, underscoring why efforts to
promote diversity must be tightly coupled with anti-racism work at the individual
and institutional levels. Their research shows the unintended fallout from the legal
strategy of the diversity defense, ushering in a challenge to diversity educators
concerning how their work can more faithfully honor the vision of a framework
that recognizes and challenges the perniciousness of racism.
A key theme in the research critiquing the implementation of diversity-related
programs is the limitation of the diversity-based legal framework for radical, sys-
temic change. The Supreme Court’s favoring of a diversity rationale for affirmative
action over a rationale focused on remediation for inequality left campuses with a
diminished toolkit to address persistent racial injustice. Justice Powell’s decision to
decouple the educational benefits of diversity from the continuing need to remedy
past and present racial injustice led to a weakening of the vision for why diversity is
part and parcel of the broader cause of advancing racial justice (Chang et al., 2005).
Further, Powell’s decoupling of the two rationales seriously weakened the capacity
of universities to foster the unique context and conditions needed engaging in racial
diversity work toward institutional transformation. It also supported a lack of
institutional efforts toward racial justice, including further interrogation and
improvement of admissions practices outside the context of the Supreme Court
(Garces, 2014a).
As a result, institutions all too easily celebrate diversity as a form of difference but
do not go deeper to investigate why they fundamentally lack it or to explore the
46 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

complicated power dynamics that emerge when they support a racially diverse
student body (Warikoo, 2016). Warikoo and Deckman (2014) documented this
phenomenon in their comparison of approaches taken by Harmony University and
Powers University (pseudonyms for two elite institutions). They conducted 77 inter-
views with undergraduates and found that organizational and institutional dynamics
deeply influenced student attitudes towards race relations. Notably, Harmony had
institutional features such as randomized housing (meant to combat student cluster-
ing along racial/ethnic lines) and attempted to foster interaction among all students.
Harmony’s approach was to foster “integration and celebration,” which Warikoo and
Deckman (2014) believed opened the door for cultural appreciation, but gave
students few tools to critique power structures and address racism. The approach
gave students a short-term sense of campus unity but, in the long-term, most students
were generally unaware and uncritical of structural inequities.
In contrast, Warikoo and Deckman (2014) noted that Powers took a more direct
“power analysis and minority support” (p. 960) approach to challenging racism and
oppression. They created spaces to provide intentional support for students of color,
such as through a Third World Transition Program (TWTP). Setting the tone from
the beginning of college, TWTP gave first-year students of color the opportunity to
come to campus early to engage in discussions around power, racism, and oppres-
sion, communicating that such issues were ongoing challenges for the campus and
society. Some White students critiqued the program as divisive, but participants
expressed the need for the opportunity.
Warikoo and Deckman (2014) found that, in general, Powers students were more
direct in addressing racism and structural inequality as realities that persisted in spite
of the existing diversity on campus. Their findings indicate that celebrating diversity
without addressing systematic inequality, as Harmony University did, may foster
surface-level interracial cooperation, but likely falls short in addressing deeper issues
around inequality and the challenges encountered by students of color. In prioritizing
the comfort of the majority of the campus, Harmony likely missed opportunities to
spur deeper, albeit more difficult and uncomfortable, learning around systematic
inequality for its students, and potentially fell short in prioritizing the well-being of
students of color.
Similarly, Leonardo and Porter (2010) pointed to the potential harm and even
violence that students of color may experience in watered down campus racial
dialogues and “safe spaces.” These spaces—environments that supposedly protect
non-dominant/marginalized students from discrimination and/or hostile ideas—tend
to actually cater to and nurture White fragility and innocence by prioritizing the
comfort of Whites (Leonardo & Porter, 2010). When catering to White innocence,
safe spaces effectively preserve colorblind ideology and a positive sense of self for
White students over dialogue that can address racism (Cabrera, 2014; Leonardo &
Porter, 2010; Unzueta & Lowery, 2008). Nurturing White innocence supports a lack
of concern or empathy toward the injustices suffered by marginalized communities
(Gotanda, 2004; Gutierrez, 2006; Ross, 1990a, 1990b).
Arguably, as Warikoo and Deckman’s (2014) work demonstrates, celebrating
diversity without addressing deeper power dynamics sends the message that
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 47

diversity is paramount due to its benefit for the majority population—White stu-
dents—rather than because it is part of a broader ecosystem of structural changes
meant to challenge systematic racial inequality. Leonardo and Porter (2010) further
demonstrated that discussing race/racism while not attending to issues of power can
take a toll on students of color, who bear the burden of vulnerability while benefits
are disproportionately accrued by Whites. Indeed, when discussions of diversity and
race/racism are decoupled from issues of power and White supremacy, majority-
status students too easily come to view diversity as a commodity that benefits them
in a global market economy, rather than understanding the pressing need to address
systematic inequality and racism (Cabrera et al., 2016).
Relatedly, the concept of diversity has been co-opted in such a fashion that the
original intent of advocating for systemic change has been diluted (Berrey, 2015b).
More specifically, when it is decoupled from recognition of racism and inequality, a
weakened diversity-based rationale opens the door for institutionalized diversity
work that lacks meaningful engagement with race, racism, and inequality. Initiatives
once seen as major reforms, such as the hiring of a chief diversity officer or the
creation of an office to support diversity, can end up as token efforts that reinforce a
colorblind paradigm and even signal that diversity work holds a marginal place in
the institution (Ahmed, 2012).
At too many institutions, racism is still seen as an individual-level phenomenon,
an aberration rather than an entrenched component of the culture. Diversity market-
ing abounds in the form of brochures featuring smiling students of different races,
with no mention of how students of color continue to experience persistent margin-
alization in the academy. In her study of how institutions in the United Kingdom
have addressed diversity, Ahmed (2012) powerfully articulated how such efforts fall
short when diversity becomes a way of “rearranging things” in order to position an
organization in the best possible light (p. 107). Ironically, then, diversity discourse
can be used to avoid doing the actual difficult work of diversity, antiracism, and
institutional transformation. As Ahmed observed, “When our appointments and
promotions are taken as signs of organizational commitments to equality and
diversity, we are in trouble” (p. 43).
It may be hard to remember, but there was a time when multiculturalism and
diversity were hotly contested issues at the national level (Leonardo, 2013). On the
whole, however, the concept of diversity has gained a level of acceptance that was
difficult to imagine in earlier times; it is now embraced—at least on some level—by
corporate America and across academia. But with this acceptance has come a
weakening of the original vision; this mainstreaming has come at a cost (Berrey,
2015b). A vision of diversity decoupled from racial inequality will only reinforce,
rather than transform, existing inequality. Institutions all too easily fall into the
“magical thinking” described by Chang et al. (2005), idealistically hoping for an
“if you build it, they will come” approach, where acquiring the requisite markers of
diversity (e.g., diversity offices, administrators, and programming) will somehow
adequately prepare students to navigate a world permeated by inequality. Instead,
“diversity” becomes superficial window dressing without deeper and more mean-
ingful entry into work that addresses systemic racism and inequality (Ahmed, 2012).
48 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

All of this leads to some important questions: Has the terminology of diversity
lost its usefulness? Or is the language of diversity still useful as long as institutions
recognize that diversity is a necessary but insufficient condition for promoting racial
justice and equity, and work to fulfill that broader vision? Educators should consider
the need to interrogate others’ usage of diversity terminology, recognizing that mere
reference to diversity is no guarantee that it is being addressed in meaningful ways
alongside the broader causes of equity and justice. Although the legal context has
resulted in a favoring of the educational benefits of diversity over the persistence of
racial inequality as a justification for affirmative action, there is no legal barrier to
institutions addressing the continuing realities of racial stratification in their efforts
to promote diversity.
Recognizing that diversity is a multi-faceted, dynamic phenomena requiring
persistent attention to numerous spheres (Garces & Jayakumar, 2014; Jayakumar
& Adamian, 2015a) can help universities identify ways that diversity advocacy has
been weakened or limited on their own campuses, as well as design ways to
incorporate strategies that take issues of power, inequality, and race into diversity
promotion efforts. Universities need not choose between staying within legal bounds
and proactively working for change, although this is a constraint that many admin-
istrators perceive (Garces & Cogburn, 2015). Significant agitation can and should
occur within the context of what is legally permissible, and more explicit recognition
of racial inequality is needed to advance diversity at the compositional level.
The relatively recent emphasis on inclusion in conjunction with diversity has
some potential to help institutions recognize the importance of addressing racial
inequality, although there is also the risk of the notion of inclusion being co-opted to
reinforce colorblind norms. Additionally, the Equity Scorecard developed by
Bensimon (2007) and colleagues has been an important tool for systematically
identifying gaps in racial equity, challenging deficit-based approaches to student
achievement, and helping educators to understand where institutions are falling
short. The scorecard creates explicit metrics that can support institutions in taking
stock of and improving the racialized outcomes of their organizational behaviors,
policies, and practices, including diversity and inclusion efforts (Dowd & Bensimon,
2015).
On a similar note, the issue of diversifying the faculty demonstrates the need to
bridge diversity-promoting efforts with attention to racial inequality. Put another
way, the lack of meaningful institutional transformation speaks to the ineffectiveness
of diversity recruitment efforts that ignore structural inequality (Smith, 2015). For
many years, institutions have made efforts to recruit faculty of color, but numerous
studies affirm that their efforts have fallen short, resulting in low retention and
morale for faculty of color (Turner, González, & Wood, 2008). Clearly, the problem
runs much deeper than merely recruiting faculty members to campus; pervasive
barriers exist, preventing these scholars from flourishing in environments that are
often at best ambivalent, and at worst hostile to their presence (Griffin & Reddick,
2011).
In short, institutions need take a more direct approach to recognizing how racial
dynamics—including in both subtle and overt manifestations—affect sense of
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 49

belonging and retention. A definition of inclusion that addresses racial inequality as

the paramount challenge to university efforts to achieve diversity would be highly
beneficial, especially in comparison to a more generic vision that equates inclusion
with a sort of fuzzy desire to promote belonging without interrogating the underlying
causes for why a lack of belonging persists in the first place. Altogether, addressing
diversity and racial equity together is not an “either/or” conundrum, but rather a
“both/and.” Institutions have room—limited but still existing—within the legal
framework to address the dynamics of power and inequality that underlie the broader
purpose of seeking diversity. Such attention is greatly needed for broader institu-
tional transformation.

2.4.3 Constraints and Limitations of the Legal Framework

for Institutions

The narrow tailoring requirements in the Court’s decision in Fisher II (2016)

expanded diversity to consider the educational environment and experiences of
students after admission. At the same time, it moved institutions away from being
able to consider race explicitly in their admissions policies toward so called “race-
neutral” approaches that create a path toward a colorblind approach to racial
diversity. For example, an institution needs to show that “‘a nonracial approach’
would not promote its interest in the educational benefits of diversity ‘about as well
and at tolerable administrative expense’” (Fisher II, 2016, p. 2208). While the Court
clarified that “narrow tailoring does not require exhaustion of every conceivable
race-neutral alternative,” it does “impose ‘on the university the ultimate burden of
demonstrating’ that ‘race-neutral alternatives’ that are both ‘available’ and ‘work-
able’ do not suffice” (Fisher II, 2016, p. 2208).
As noted previously, in the legal arena, a policy or practice is defined as race-
neutral when, with respect to language and intent, it confers no benefit (e.g., an offer
of admission or scholarship) associated with an individual’s race or ethnicity.
However, a rich body of work has found that approaches considered race-neutral
under this legal definition, such as class-based admissions, are not effective sub-
stitutes for creating racial diversity (Flores & Horn, 2015; Kidder & Gándara, 2015;
Reardon, Baker, Kasman, Klasik, & Townsend, 2015). Studies that examine the
effectiveness of strategies like expanded and targeted outreach to high schools that
serve large populations of students of color have found that administrators view
these approaches as ineffective in maintaining racial diversity (Garces & Cogburn,
2015). This is because, even if more students of color are encouraged to apply, other
factors, such as structural inequities in K–12 education and standardized testing
requirements, can impede whether students are admitted. Moreover, the inability to
offer targeted financial aid to students of color can undermine whether they enroll
(Garces & Cogburn, 2015).
50 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

An emerging body of work has also started to document the detrimental conse-
quences that race-neutral approaches in admissions are having in other essential
areas of university life. A study of the 2006 affirmative action ban in Michigan, for
example, found that not being able to consider race as part of a holistic admissions
process has had negative consequences for efforts to support an inclusive environ-
ment. Administrators said the ban has effectively silenced conversations around race
and racism, thus making efforts that support racial diversity less visible and leading
the administration to feel disempowered to support racial diversity on campus
(Garces & Cogburn, 2015). Other recent work has shown that admissions policies
that do not consider race as a factor and are therefore deemed race-neutral, such as
those at the University of Georgia, can make efforts to focus on race increasingly
challenging (Glasener, Martell, & Posselt, 2016). By diverting attention to race and
undermining the sustained support that diversity efforts require (Hurtado et al.,
1999), these consequences can create serious barriers to promoting inclusive learn-
ing environments.
When institutions are required to show that race-neutral alternatives are insuffi-
cient, it reinforces an illusion of colorblindness because the requirement is based on
an assumption that policies can, in fact, be race-neutral (Garces, 2014b). This moves
institutions further away from being able to consider the systemic and societal ways
in which race affects educational opportunity. As race scholars have demonstrated
(e.g., Bonilla-Silva, 2009; Haney López, 2007), a colorblind approach is an illusion;
it obscures the ways in which race continues to matter in shaping students’ experi-
ences and educational opportunities, and the mechanisms that advantage Whites
within and outside education in American society (powell, 2012). This approach also
ignores the persistent, stubborn link between historical racial exclusion and contem-
porary reasons for racial inequality (Bell, 2005; Harris, 2003). Thus, the ways in
which institutions implement the Court’s requirements have important implications
for improving racial representation and equity on college campuses.
For these reasons, racial equity-minded scholarship is crucial for addressing the
mechanisms that advantage White students within and outside of the educational
system and policy context. This includes addressing problematic notions of meri-
tocracy and cultural capital valued in admissions, institutional environments that
center Whiteness and promote colorblindness, narratives aimed at dividing commu-
nities of color, and problematic colorblind institutional practices. Within the legal
paradigm, it entails advancing a more contextualized and nuanced understanding of
how diversity works, such as a dynamic diversity framework (Garces & Jayakumar,
2014). In the next section we elaborate on these mechanisms as key areas of focus for
diversity research and social science evidence related to racial equity in higher
education.
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 51

2.5 Part III: Advancing a New Diversity Research Agenda

In this section, we highlight key perspectives and areas of social science research that
can advance a re-envisioned agenda of empirical inquiry for addressing issues of
diversity and inclusion in postsecondary education. Rather than providing a tradi-
tional review of diversity literature to identify gaps in research, which has been done
before (e.g., Garces & Jayakumar, 2014; Gurin et al., 2013; Hurtado, 2005; Hurtado
et al., 1998, 1999; Jackson & O’Callaghan, 2009; Milem et al., 2005; Smith, 2015;
Williams et al., 2005), our approach entails highlighting frameworks and research
areas that can advance necessary strategic directions for diversity scholarship. To be
clear, this is not an exhaustive list, as we encourage the generation of additional areas
that align with a CRP-Ed approach and our analysis of the contemporary legal and
institutional contexts. These areas of research align with the CRP-Ed approach by
advancing empirical inquiries across multiple domains and spheres of influence. In
particular, we focus on five directions.
First, we argue that diversity research can continue to play an important role in
advancing inquiry that informs the national and institutional policy context, as
affirmative action and institutional efforts targeted at increasing diversity and inclu-
sion continue to be dismantled and co-opted. Along this domain, we address how the
dynamic diversity framework (Garces & Jayakumar, 2014) and intersectionality
(Crenshaw, 1991; Hill Collins, 2000; Núñez, 2014a, 2014b) can be employed to
foster more equity-minded research, policy, and practice. Both lenses support
challenges to co-opted diversity discourses such that we can continue to expand
research inquiry that informs legal and institutional diversity conversations while
advancing racial equity within legal parameters.
Second, given the role of the public debate and broader narrative in shaping legal
challenges and strategies, we name and challenge dominant narratives and frames
that perpetuate postsecondary racial inequality. Such narratives not only stifle the
policy context but also uphold the root mechanisms and problems—including
problematic admissions practices—that prevent us from achieving racial equity in
access, representation, and inclusion on college campuses. Specifically, we address
the oppressive narratives in admissions, including meritocracy (Liu, 2011; Posselt,
2016) and dominant narratives that threaten to divide communities of color (Park &
Liu, 2014; Lee, 2008). While research has focused on barriers to access tied to
pre-college contexts—including school resources, academic preparation, and famil-
ial agency (Perna, 2006)—there is a greater need to examine the role of
postsecondary admissions practices as a mechanism that produces racial inequality
(Guinier, 2015; Yosso, 2005). Thus, throughout this section, we illustrate how
admissions practices can be re-envisioned to foster more equitable outcomes.
Third, we explain how future diversity inquiry that addresses the mechanisms of
exclusion can be greatly enhanced by a focus on generating power within and among
communities of color. We describe the strategic equity framework, which is critical
for supporting diversity scholarship that can generate this power to ultimately lead to
more equitable institutional policies and practices. The framework offers three
52 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

principles that can help advance more equitable postsecondary policies and guide
future research to generate new areas of interest convergence among intersecting and
shifting identities (i.e., race, gender, sexual orientation, citizenship status, language,
class, etc.).
Fourth, to inform a more nuanced understanding of how to improve race relations
and inclusion on college campuses, we highlight strategies to address issues that
have strategically been left out of or minimized in the conversation—racism,
colorblind ideology, and Whiteness. We emphasize frameworks that can deepen
our understanding of campus environments and race relations that center racism and
Whiteness. We highlight Leonardo and Porter (2010) and Cabrera et al.’s work
(2016) that challenges conceptualizations of safe spaces, and Ledesma’s (2016)
healthy campus racial climate framework that offers an alternative to “positive racial
climate” discourses. Both complicate our understanding of what will be necessary to
address the challenges that keep us from finding real solutions to our diversity and
inclusion problems on college campuses.
And fifth, we recognize that, in addition to choosing relevant and useful topics of
inquiry, in order to follow a CRP-Ed perspective it is critical to choose appropriate
methods and perspectives to interpret findings (see, for example, Martínez-Alemán,
Pusser, & Bensimon, 2015; Stage & Wells, 2014). In the absence of mindfulness and
careful maneuvering around the known pitfalls of diversity, future diversity work
will only restrict the potential for advancing more racially just policies and
postsecondary practices. Thus, we close with a discussion of the possibilities and
limitations of quantification and the use of innovative research methods.

2.5.1 Advancing Inquiries That Can Inform Policy Within

Legal Parameters

2.5.1.1 Dynamic Diversity on College Campuses and the Need for an

Equity Focus

“Dynamic diversity” is a framework that promotes a more contextual discussion of

diversity beyond numbers (Garces & Jayakumar, 2014) and addresses the critique of
critical mass by former Justice Scalia in Fisher I (2013). Specifically, to challenge
the problematic de-contextualization of critical mass in the Fisher I and II deliber-
ations, the framework synthesizes the social science literature related to critical mass
in order to demonstrate the connection between racial representation and the educa-
tional benefits of diversity. Prior scholarship has indicated that the proportion and
number of students of color on campus can mitigate or prevent experiences of
tokenism, racial isolation, and stereotype threat (McCabe, 2009; Murphy, Steele,
& Gross, 2007; Smith, Allen, & Danley, 2007; Purdie-Vaughns, Steele, Davies,
Ditlmann, & Crosby, 2008; Walton & Carr, 2012; Walton & Cohen, 2007; Walton &
Spencer, 2009; Yosso et al., 2009). But numbers alone do not generate educational
benefits; rather, the interactions that take place among students, the particular
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 53

contexts of these interactions, and the conditions that help facilitate productive
interactions generate the exchange of ideas (e.g., Cabrera et al., 1999; Gurin et al.,
2013; Harper & Quaye, 2009; Hurtado & Carter, 1997; Hurtado et al., 1998, 1999;
Jayakumar, 2008; Milem et al., 2005; Pascarella & Terenzini, 2005).
Thus, diversity and the related concept of critical mass must be reconceptualized;
the focus must shift from numbers to the relationship between students and their
environment. Understanding diversity as dynamic illuminates the types of trans-
formations in which institutions need to engage in order to support students and help
create the conditions necessary to foster related educational benefits. Research on
diversity suggests that it is important to (a) foster a healthy racial climate to instigate
productive interactions (Hurtado et al., 2012; Ledesma, 2016); (b) address institu-
tional legacies of exclusion and current organizational practices that maintain ineq-
uity (Hurtado et al., 1998, 1999; Milem et al., 2005); (c) eliminate impediments for
productive interactions in learning environments (Denson & Chang, 2010; Dasgupta
& Asgari, 2004); and (d) nurture healthy cross-racial interactions and intergroup
relations (Gurin et al., 2013).
Our understanding of diversity must be contextual, interdependent, cross-racial,
and participatory. First, we need an understanding of the conditions required for
meaningful interactions and participation—contexts that cut across national, state,
campus, classroom, and interpersonal levels, as well as the additional dimensions of
time and space, from historical to current sociopolitical contexts. The key institu-
tional components that enable dynamic diversity—the number of students of color
on campus and particularly members of historically underrepresented groups, the
campus climate, and the classroom climate for participation—are interdependent,
shaped by one another in a cyclical reaction. Dynamic diversity is defined by
productive cross-racial interactions at the individual and institutional (intergroup
relation) levels. It is characterized by participation that engages group members’ full
selves under conditions that promote equal status contact.9 When cross-racial inter-
action allows for full participation, it triggers dynamic diversity by activating more
lively discussions, challenges to prior understandings/convictions and stereotypes,
greater potential for innovation, and an expanded range of perspectives and solutions
(Garces & Jayakumar, 2014).
Most importantly, the study of diversity and cross-racial interaction must be
better informed by a focus on racial equity, inequality, and institutional environ-
ments (Hurtado et al., 2012). The study of cross-racial interaction has always
highlighted the effect of institutional environments including racial heterogeneity
(see, for example, Bowman, 2012; Chang et al., 2004; Park, Denson, & Bowman,
2013). But the quantitative framing of these studies has allowed for less consider-
ation of other factors that may influence equity (or lack thereof) in students’

9
The importance of equal status contact in determing the quality and value of intergroup contact —
particularly with respect to reducing stereotypes and prejudice—was first outlined in Allport’s
(1954) classic work. Today, we can think of it as interactions that take place under conditions that
account for privileged and marginalized social statuses and the accompanying power dynamics.
54 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

interactions with one another. This dynamic is particularly critical to consider given
Allport’s (1954) assertion that a pre-condition for healthy intergroup contact is
relative equal status between students—something often assumed to exist, especially
in comparison to the imbalanced student–faculty relationship (Aries, 2008). How-
ever, the rich body of research documenting inequity and the persistence of racism in
students’ everyday lives (see, for example, Harper & Hurtado, 2007; Harper, 2012;
Museus & Park, 2015) makes it clear that the inequality that shapes students’ lives
prior to college does not go away upon enrollment.
So, how might the study of cross-racial interaction take these surrounding
conditions into greater consideration? One suggestion is to provide clearer recogni-
tion of the inequities that exist in the benefits accrued from engaging with racial
diversity: White students tend to benefit most consistently, with mixed findings for
other groups (see, for example, Gurin et al., 2002; Spanierman, Neville, Liao,
Hammer, & Wang, 2008). Other suggestions include the expansion of qualitative
and network-based methods in the study of cross-racial interaction to highlight the
inequities and challenges to relative equal status that exist among students and that
are influenced by institutional environments (Park, 2013; Park et al., 2013; Warikoo,
2016).

2.5.1.2 Intersectionality in Higher Education

The study of intersectionality represents an additional area in which future research

can advance our understanding of diversity in nuanced and critical ways. Pioneered
by Black feminists, intersectionality explains how experiences, inequality, and
oppression operate uniquely when two or more social identities function in tandem
with one another (Crenshaw, 1991; Hill Collins, 2000; Núñez, 2014a, 2014b). Given
the sometimes watered down use of intersectionality in research today, Núñez
(2014a) pointed to the need to consider power relations in intersectionality work,
as was initially intended by Black feminist scholars. For example, the experiences of
Latinx students may have some general commonalities, but within the population,
inequality could operate distinctively along gender lines. For example, Latinas may
be subject to manifestations of sexism that affect women of color more generally and
Latinas more specifically, while Latino students simultaneously grapple with both
privilege and oppression that represent the unique ways in which their identities
related to race, ethnicity and gender interact (Núñez, 2014a, 2014b). Within each
subpopulation, further forms of intersectionality may exist—for instance, relating to
the intersections of race/ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, and religion.
The growing emphasis on the unique dynamics that affect women of color and
men of color represents increasing acceptance and understanding of
intersectionality; this has deep implications for policy and practice in higher educa-
tion. Research organizations such as Project MALES (Mentoring to Achieve Latino
Success), based at the University of Texas, Austin, the Minority Male Community
College Collective, based at San Diego State University, and the Supreme Love
Project (a social and emotional justice initiative for women of color; see
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 55

supremeloveproject.com), all of which seek to address the contextualized inequita-

ble power dynamics that limit opportunities for the groups they serve, reflect this
dynamic (see Sáenz, Ponjuan, Segovia, & Del Real Viramontes, 2015; Staples,
2016).
Within diversity research, intersectionality has also gained traction as an analyt-
ical lens used to draw attention to how attitudes and patterns related to intergroup
relations, diversity, and equity play out uniquely when researchers pay attention to
the differences that exist both within and between populations. For instance, in a
study comparing the experiences of Black female and male faculty, Griffin and
Reddick (2011) drew attention to how both groups experienced significant chal-
lenges linked to race and ethnicity, but Black female faculty were taxed in particular,
with heavier expectations related to their levels of service and socioemotional
caretaking of students. While research has documented the caretaking that is often
expected of female faculty, Griffin and Reddick documented how the dynamics for
Black women play out in unique ways that both parallel and diverge from patterns
linked to gender alone, due to the unique intersectionality of race, ethnicity, and
gender. The study showcases the possibilities of intersectionality research for more
precisely identifying patterns of inequality that co-exist with compositional
diversity.
Other studies do not explicitly reference intersectionality but demonstrate that
attention to how individual demographic traits operate in tandem with one another
can open up new insights into the complexities of diversity and equity. Park et al.
(2013) found that the socioeconomic diversity of an institution in combination with
the racial diversity of the student body was an indirect predictor of cross-racial
interaction. While socioeconomic diversity did not subsume the direct effect asso-
ciated with the racial diversity of the institution, these researchers suggested that
socioeconomic diversity played a role in “priming” racial diversity by creating a
more fluid, equitable environment for cross-racial interaction. An institution where
racial lines are not reinforced strongly by socioeconomic boundaries can open up
more opportunities for students to share relative equal status—as noted above, this is
one of the key conditions identified by Allport (1954) for healthy intergroup contact.
In contrast, when socioeconomic divides overlap strongly with racial divides, the
social distance further widens, making it harder to cross these boundaries. Park
et al.’s (2013) work highlights the unique intersections that exist between racial and
socioeconomic diversity—two forms that have distinctive, as well as interrelated,
characteristics.
Reardon et al. (2015) offer another example that does not explicitly utilize the
framework of intersectionality but that nevertheless demonstrates how careful atten-
tion to interlocking forms of diversity has key implications for equity. These
researchers included simulations of various undergraduate admissions outcomes
when institutions considered race and/or class in varying capacities. They found
that the highest level of socioeconomic diversity came not from policies only
incorporating social class-related preferences, but from the simulation where both
race and class were considered. Unsurprising but perhaps counterintuitive, class-
alone policies failed to capture the full magnitude of socioeconomic disadvantage
56 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

due to the unique ways that race and class intersect in fostering economic inequality
(Park et al., 2013).
In sum, intersectionality is a promising framework for advancing diversity
research while taking into account a move toward broader definitions of diversity
beyond race. Both dynamic diversity and intersectionality can support intentional,
critically conscious diversity scholarship within the legal parameters of a very
constricting debate.

2.5.2 Advancing Inquiries That Address Public Discourses

and Dominant Narratives

2.5.2.1 “Meritocracy” and Admissions Metrics in an Era of Supposed

Race-Neutrality

The coming years will require researchers to think critically about the conceptual-
ization of merit. Despite rulings preserving the consideration of race in Fisher I
(2013) and Fisher II (2016), we are facing an era in which consideration of race in
admissions is far from guaranteed. The existing admissions system promotes the
myth of meritocracy by operating under the guise of fairness, fostering traditional
notions of merit as an objective, quantifiable standard that can be applied uniformly
across populations (Liu, 2011). In reality, it upholds and reinforces deeply troubling
structures that greatly limit opportunity for students (Guinier, 2015). In fact, the
issue of meritocracy is deeply fraught (Baez, 2006; Liu, 2011; Park & Liu, 2014),
and a re-envisioning of the admissions system that boldly addresses the reality of
structural inequality is sorely needed. Investigations of graduate admissions also
unveil the complex dynamics behind how students are assessed and the importance
of holistic admissions, particularly those that can consider race as a factor, for
expanding opportunity (Garces, 2012; Posselt, 2016).
Much of this work will need to pay careful attention to the metrics currently used
in admissions decisions, and perhaps none of these is more contested than the SAT.
The entire point of the SAT is, arguably, to provide a standardized assessment of all
students. Critiques of the test have highlighted disparities in access to supplemental
tutoring, either privately or via test preparation classes. In particular, critics note that
test prep—and, in particular, high quality test prep—is more readily accessible to the
wealthy (McDonough, 1997). East Asian Americans also have higher levels of test
prep participation than other racial/ethnic groups, likely due to the infrastructure of
the ethnic economy that provides such opportunities in abundance (Park, 2012).
While the latter trends are of concern, perhaps more troubling is work that suggests
that the actual benefits linked to test prep are inequitable. Contrary to advertising, it
actually does not pay off in sizable gains for most populations (Avery, 2013; Briggs,
2009), and some studies suggest that gains are disproportionately accumulated by
East Asian Americans, high-income students, and those with the highest prior levels
of academic preparation (Briggs, 2009; Byun & Park, 2012; Park & Becks, 2015).
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 57

Discrepancies in the benefits linked with SAT prep suggest that solutions that
focus on expanding its availability, as the College Board has done by partnering with
online tutoring resource Khan Academy, are laudable but fall short of ensuring
equity in college admissions. Future diversity research can further unpack the
underpinnings of a system that can do little to compensate for cumulative inequities
at the K–12 level, challenging the notion that meritocracy in its most popular
framing (e.g., test scores) can be captured objectively and consistently. Likewise,
findings on the inequities of SAT prep—not just in terms of access, but in terms of its
actual benefits—raise major concerns about reliance on SAT scores in admissions
decisions, particularly at the level of selective and highly selective admissions. Is
comparing scores between students really a case of “apples to apples” (Park, 2015)?
The fact that SAT coaching and the related benefits fall along racial, ethnic, and
socioeconomic lines speaks to the need for the continued individual, contextual, and
holistic assessment of student achievements, including test scores. It also speaks to
the continuing need to consider race, ethnicity, and social class in the admissions
process in order to understand the context in which scores are achieved, or the
alternative: eradicating the consideration of standardized tests in admissions
altogether.
To be sure, another potential area for research will be to examine the implications
of SAT-optional initiatives, where institutions do not require that applicants submit
these test scores. Viewed widely by admissions officers as one of the most effective
means to advance equity in admissions, it remains one of the least utilized (Espinosa,
Gaertner, & Orfield, 2015). Individual institutions have reported promising findings
on the effects of making the SAT optional. For instance, the president of Hampshire
College reported a 10% increase in student-of-color enrollment, as well as a sizable
bump in first-generation college students and an increase in admissions yield
(Strauss, 2015). However, more systemic, multi-institutional research is needed to
advance understanding of how holistic admissions can better capture talent and
achievement that might otherwise go unrecognized.
Furthermore, it is critical that we address the wide-ranging influence of the
current race-neutral policy climate and legal requirements on university policy in
admissions and other areas of campus life. Past work has demonstrated the negative
consequences that affirmative action bans can have, not only on the number of
students of color who enroll, but also on efforts that are necessary to promote racially
inclusive campus climates (Garces & Cogburn, 2015). Recent work illustrates how a
colorblind admissions approach can take hold through seemingly innocuous prac-
tices and responses that are called “race-neutral” (Garces & Bilyalov, in press). It
will be important to address how requirements to adopt these policies can give cover
to seemingly race-neutral actions that have racial consequences for students on
college campuses.
58 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

2.5.2.2 Narratives Aimed At Dividing Communities of Color:

Implications for Meritocracy

Affirmative action cases featuring Asian American plaintiffs are currently moving
through the lower courts (Wong, 2016). As they do so, we can anticipate a continued
shift in the discourse toward dividing communities of color. Indeed, the anti-
affirmative action movement has actively courted Asian Americans to support its
case, despite surveys indicating the majority of Asian Americans support race-
conscious admissions (Park, 2009). The co-optation of Asian Americans by the
anti-affirmative movement represents an insidious form of interest convergence,
wherein the anti-affirmative action movement has shown little interest in supporting
the needs of Asian Americans except in situations that serve its own agenda (Park &
Liu, 2014). For example, it raises questions about the nature of meritocracy and the
limitations of a system that does not address the roots of systemic inequality.
The courting of Asian Americans by the anti-affirmative action movement per-
sists despite the fact that Asian Americans have historically been direct beneficiaries
of affirmative action programs (Lee, 2008).10 Asian Americans have been visible
supporters of affirmative action through the decades, from legal scholars Charles
Lawrence and Mari Matsuda’s (1997) classic, We Won’t Go Back: Making the Case
for Affirmative Action, to the aptly named civil rights organization, Chinese for
Affirmative Action. At the same time, Asian American groups have also organized
against affirmative action, particularly in 1994 when a group of Chinese Americans
sued the San Francisco Unified School District to challenge the consideration of race
in admissions for the selective magnet Lowell High School.
While affirmative action as a policy does not explicitly disadvantage Asian
Americans, institutional admissions practices informed by racial bias and discrimi-
nation have led to exclusionary practices that do. In the 1980s, several high-profile
universities were accused of maintaining ceilings on Asian American enrollment
(Takagi, 1992). Both Harvard and UCLA were under federal investigation by the
U.S. Department of Education’s Office of Civil Rights. Brown and Stanford were
not subject to federal investigation but did admit to irregularities in their own
admissions processes. Harvard was exonerated, as discrepancies in admit rates
could be attributed to differences in legacy and other special admissions consider-
ations, but UCLA was ordered to admit certain math graduate students who had
previously been denied admission (Takagi, 1992). This historical context is indica-
tive of how the topic of college admissions and Asian Americans has been a
complicated and sensitive issue within the community for decades.
In more recent years, divides within the community have been increasingly
apparent. A major shift occurred in California in 2014, when a coalition of primarily

10
From the 1970s to the present day, Asian Americans may be considered eligible for race-
conscious programs and admissions depending on the context of the institution. For instance, the
University of Wisconsin system gathers data not just on students’ racial identification, but also on
their ethnic identification, allowing the institution to be aware of the unique issues affecting
educational opportunity for students from Southeast Asian American populations.
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 59

Chinese American recent immigrants launched an attack against State Constitutional

Amendment 5 (SCA-5), which would have repealed Proposition 209 (which had
prohibited affirmative action) in higher education institutions. In the same year,
Edward Blum, who coordinated the plaintiff’s case in Fisher I and Fisher II,
specifically sought out Asian American plaintiffs to launch a high-profile lawsuit
against Harvard University. Since these events, coalitions of Asian American groups
have launched public campaigns both in support of and in opposition to race-
conscious admissions. Both sides also filed amicus briefs in the Fisher cases, and
a brief filed by the Asian American Legal Education and Defense Fund in support of
the University of Texas was cited in Justice Kennedy’s majority opinion in Fisher II
(2016) to argue that there was no evidence of discrimination against Asian American
applicants at UT Austin.
Asian American groups opposing affirmative action have relied heavily on a
misinterpretation of statistical analysis from Espenshade and Radford’s (2009) study
of the admissions processes at selective institutions, which found that, on average,
Asian Americans had SAT scores that were about 140 points higher than those of
White students. Frequent references to Espenshade and Radford’s study neglect the
fact that it is based on analysis of standardized admissions metrics (e.g., SAT, GPA,
class rank), which only represent a fraction of the factors and experiences that
admissions officers consider at selective institutions. Espenshade himself has
acknowledged that his work is not conclusive evidence of discrimination against
Asian Americans (Jaschik, 2009). Anti-affirmative action advocates also neglect
Espenshade and Radford’s (2009) finding that selective colleges and universities
give significant preference to low-income and working class Asian Americans at
private institutions, challenging the perception that Asian Americans are uniformly
disadvantaged by race-conscious admissions policies.
Asian American groups that have supported affirmative action point to three
factors to make their case: (a) the continued need for race-conscious admissions
for both certain Asian Americans and underrepresented students of color more
generally; (b) the fact that Asian American (and all) students benefit from engaging
in a racially diverse student body; and (c) the idea that negative action is distinct
from affirmative action. Negative action refers to the phenomenon where Asian
American applicants are disadvantaged in the admissions process when compared to
White applicants who are equally qualified (Kang, 1996). Interestingly, the anti-
affirmative action wing of the Asian American population has identified negative
action as a reason to reject race-conscious admissions, while Asian American
supporters of affirmative action have recognized it as a distinct issue that does not
undermine the continuing need for such policies (Park & Liu, 2014).
In either case, the identification of negative action is challenging (Park & Liu,
2014). It is relatively easier to spot in cases like 1980s UCLA admissions decisions
that were heavily reliant on quantified metrics (e.g., GPA and SAT scores) and
specific numbers of available slots. In contrast, it is more challenging to diagnose in
the current era of holistic admissions where institutions rely on a much wider array of
traits to identify talent. Even extracurricular activities, leadership positions, and
teacher recommendations are not necessarily quantifiable, as admissions officers
60 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

seek to understand students’ academic, social, and leadership accomplishments in

the context of their opportunities to achieve, as well as students’ ability to contribute
to the richness of the student body community.
In an era where admissions rates at the most selective institutions are in the single
digit range, the oversupply of qualified applicants as measured by quantified metrics
far exceeds the number of slots available; hundreds if not thousands of strong
students—even those with near perfect test scores and stellar records—will be
rejected. Thus, comparisons between admit rates for various groups based solely
on quantified metrics are insufficient in diagnosing negative action. It is also
important to recognize that negative action may exist even in the absence of
affirmative action. The common conflation of negative action and affirmative action
divides communities of color, making some Asian Americans hesitant to support
affirmative action because they see it as responsible for negative action. Although
negative action is still worthy of attention, it is important to address it as an issue
distinct from affirmative action (Kang, 1996).
Altogether, this discussion highlights how undergraduate admissions research
and practices concerning Asian Americans represent numerous tensions in the
affirmative action debate, shifting the conversation in ways that previous,
underqualified White plaintiffs were less able to do. The discussion points to
important questions that are deserving of inquiry: What do fairness and equality
look like when there is an overabundance of students who meet standardized
admissions criteria? How can admissions officers identify the context for educational
opportunity without consideration of race/ethnicity? What element of admissions is
somewhat arbitrary when market forces have contributed to an oversupply of
“qualified” students and yet the most coveted, selective institutions have admission
rates in the single digits? How might race-conscious admissions policies actually
open the door for Asian Americans who do not fit the mold of the perfect 1600-SAT-
score-achieving student? These questions further underscore the need for careful
examination of the conception of merit—an examination that moves beyond a view
of merit as objective and unbiased, to one that addresses contextual factors affecting
educational opportunity, racism, and institutional context (Park & Liu, 2014).

2.5.3 Advancing Inquiries That Promote Interest

Convergence Expansion by Generating Power Among
Communities of Color

2.5.3.1 A Strategic Racial Equity Framework

A strategic racial equity framework can help guide how educational policies are
framed and enacted toward racial equity in light of a current period of retrenchment,
which we summarized in Part II. Such a framework combines a range of concepts
and strategies including racial literacy, intersectionality, community organizing, and
opportunity hoarding—the practice of dominant group members regulating the
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 61

distribution of resources in ways that ultimately restrict nondominant group mem-

bers from gaining full access to such resources (DiTomaso, 2013; Lewis & Dia-
mond, 2015). The strategic racial equity framework benefited from the interventions
of CRT and its intellectual lineage (see Yosso & Solórzano, 2005) as well as from
CRP-Ed. While drawing from different literature, it provides an approach that is
similar to CRP-Ed, with principles that overlap with and compliment its key tenets.
Nonetheless the strategic racial equity framework is uniquely beneficial in that it
hones in on guiding research focused on advancing policies toward racial equity
within existing legal parameters. In other words, it can be viewed as a specialized
and practical application of CRP-Ed, with the potential for supporting scholars with
a developing critical consciousness. The framework encompasses three basic prin-
ciples: (a) attending to the dynamic relationship among power, race, and identities;
(b) actively naming and addressing hidden contributors to inequity; and
(c) generating power among marginalized communities of color toward transforma-
tive policies (Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017).
The first of these principles—attending to the dynamic relationships among
power, race, and identities—is related to the above-mentioned areas of dynamic
diversity and intersectionality, which can inform policy within legal parameters.
Rather than deny a focus on race, which legal decisions have encouraged, Garces
and Gordon da Cruz (2017) proposed what legal scholar Lani Guinier (2004) termed
racial literacy, so that we understand race as dynamic and in relationship with fluid
identities and access to power. Guinier (2004) argued that to be racially literate in our
current context is to simultaneously not lose sight of race and not only focus on race.
Consequently, to be racially literate is to “interrogate. . .the dynamic relationship
among race, class, geography, gender, and other explanatory variables” (p. 115).
Further, Guinier noted, racial literacy stresses the relationship between race and
power; power—or, in her words, agency—is both an individual phenomenon as well
as connected to larger environmental and institutional factors that influence an
individual’s capacity to exercise this agency. A racial literacy lens requires a focus
on dynamic shifting identities—including race—and the relationship between these
identities and the power to access opportunities and resources. The concept of
intersectionality, already discussed at length, provides a helpful lens for research
and policies that promote racial literacy with a focus on these dynamic shifting
identities (Crenshaw, 1991; Hill Collins, 2000; Núñez, 2014a, 2014b).
The second principle of the framework—actively naming and addressing hidden
contributors to inequity—is connected to racial equity. This principle is similar to
the CRP-Ed tenet focused on redefining dominant systems in order to act in
counterhegemonic ways and to challenge dominant narratives (Jayakumar &
Adamian, 2015a). It emphasizes that countering a colorblind framework in educa-
tion requires naming and addressing the hidden (and not-so-hidden) policies and
practices that contribute to and perpetuate racial inequity. Specifically, this principle
calls for: (a) actively naming the social and historical contexts that shape current
events and policies; (b) making explicit the advantages afforded to Whites based on
laws, policies, and cultural practices; and (c) developing language and other tools for
naming privilege and advantage. Research studies might use this principle to guide
62 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

studies that document the racialized implications of so-called race-neutral

approaches in educational policies and practices.
In addition to naming and addressing the policies and practices that sustain
inequity (such as exposing the racialized dimensions of approaches that are purport-
edly race-neutral under a legal definition), a strategic racial equity framework is
focused on the importance of generating power among historically marginalized
communities of color to enact transformative policies in education. This principle
reflects a practical application of CRP-Ed, which recognizes that the power of
individuals from oppressed communities can be a source of transformation potential
(Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015a). As such, the framework focuses on generating
power among communities that have historically been marginalized in an attempt to
minimize the inevitable compromises that happen as a result of interest convergence
as traditionally conceived (e.g., interests across Black and middle- or upper-income
White communities within a hegemonic system). This principle is particularly
relevant at present, when dominant narratives are aimed at dividing communities
of color.

2.5.4 Advancing Racial Equity-Minded Inquiry That

De-centers Whiteness

Another area that we believe is critical to the future of diversity research is the legacy
of institutional environments that put Whiteness at the forefront, and the responsi-
bility of institutions to their students in this regard. Challenging the co-optation of
diversity discourses on campus requires advancing inquiry that addresses the legacy
of institutional environments that center Whiteness and individualism. Bensimon’s
(2004, 2007) groundbreaking work on equity-mindedness advanced the notion of
how standard post-positivistic research practices reinforced deficit-minded, individ-
ualistic notions around students—that individual students were largely responsible
for their achievement, and that institutions had little control or ability to change their
environments to support racially and economically diverse student bodies. Her work
drew attention to the surrounding layers of inequality that permeate what goes on
within institutions, as well as the influence on students and their ability to thrive.
Likewise, other scholars have highlighted the legacies of institutional environments
that center Whiteness—and with it, an individualistic paradigm in which structural
forces are either dismissed or ignored (see, for example, Ahmed, 2012; Cabrera,
2014; Warikoo, 2016). Thus, we suggest that a future priority for advancing the
diversity research agenda is a focus on how institutional environments advance or
discourage equity alongside the pursuit of diversity.
Central to understanding the impact of institutional environments is Ledesma’s
(2016) work reframing traditional understandings of campus climate as negative or
positive. Earlier approaches to climate research have emphasized the achievement of
a positive or “warm” climate, but climate may vary within a single institution, or
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 63

such a climate may never be truly achieved. Climate is a constantly dynamic state
that requires careful attention. Indeed, studies of institutional environments highlight
how institutions that have been lauded for innovative work in the area of diversity
and equity can later experience significant difficulties due to the ever-changing
influence of state and federal policy (Garces & Cogburn, 2015). Thus, rather than
encourage an approach that assesses campus climate as singularly chilly or warm,
Ledesma argued for a health metaphor—an approach that can help individuals
understand that an entity may have areas of well-being that co-exist with areas of
sickness, frailty, or risk. This approach to assessing climate, that includes an
understanding of how health is a constantly changing state, is a helpful tool to assess
the climate for diversity and equity.
Ledesma (2016) made a strong case for moving beyond simply increasing racial
representation to cultivate healthy climates that address reluctance to acknowledge
White discomfort and the negative emotions that can occur with race talk and the
decentering of White privilege. In higher education—as Gutierrez (2006) noted in
the K–12 domain a decade ago—there is an urgent need to articulate and address
how problematic notions of White innocence and safety are protected at the expense
of students of color. It is no longer sufficient to tangentially incorporate this analysis,
particularly in increasingly racially diverse schooling environments. Similarly,
building on Leonardo’s (2009) work, Cabrera and colleagues (2016) questioned
the popular conceptualization of “safe spaces” in diversity work—as we noted
earlier, these spaces protect White innocence and colorblind racism, and are in fact
unsafe for students of color.
White students’ comfort, safety, and positive self-perceptions are protected in
schooling environments that largely center Whiteness and meritocracy (Cabrera
et al., 2016; Leonardo & Porter, 2010; Lewis, 2001; Unzueta & Lowery, 2008).
White college students are often protected from confronting their own racial biases
and assumptions. This is particularly true at TWIs, where White students experience
high levels of (White) racial isolation (Jayakumar, 2015b; Warikoo & de Novais
2014) and where colorblindness has been extensively documented (e.g., Bobo,
Kluegel, & Smith, 1997; Bonilla-Silva, 2014; Cabrera, 2014; Forman & Lewis,
2015; Kinder & Sanders, 1996; Lewis et al., 2000; Picca & Feagin, 2007). Thus,
when Whites do have experiences in which Whiteness is made salient, they expe-
rience racialized vulnerability, defined as unease based on perceived control and
protection against various threats to integrity and personhood, which are shaped by
dominant or marginalized racial identity statuses (Jayakumar, 2015a). In contrast,
students of color tend to experience high race salience and consistently experience
(and have built up resistance toward) racialized vulnerability brought on by token-
ism, microaggressions, stereotype threat, and racism in schooling and society
(Jayakumar, 2015a). Nonetheless, as Leonardo and Porter (2010) pointed out, racial
dialogues and spaces at large entail a level of emotional violence towards students of
color. A healthy racial climate is one in which racialized vulnerability and violence
are minimized for students of color, and where productive racialized vulnerability is
nurtured for White students, toward the development of anti-racist and humanizing
identities and relationships.
64 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

As White students navigate shielded TWI campus environments, they are

absolved of confronting their role as actors and beneficiaries in the perpetuation
and maintenance of institutional racism. Protecting White students from engaging
with such discomfort stifles their ability to situate themselves where they can endure
the pain and discomfort that arise in the face of race and racism (Cabrera et al., 2016;
DiAngelo, 2011; Leonardo & Porter, 2010). DiAngelo (2011) identified Whites’
inability to deal with the stressors that come with confronting racism as White
fragility. She explained, “These moves include the outward display of emotions
such as anger, fear, and guilt, and behaviors such as argumentation, silence, and
leaving the stress-inducing situation” (p. 54). Furthermore, White fragility engenders
racial apathy, defined as a “lack of care about racial inequity and the related belief
that there is no need to intervene to address racial inequality” (Forman & Lewis,
2015, p. 1417).
More alarming, White students’ racial apathy has been on the rise in the last
25 years (Forman & Lewis, 2015), as racial attitudes have not only shifted from overt
to covert forms of racism (Forman, 2004; Forman & Lewis, 2006, 2015; Samson &
Bobo, 2014) but are developing in a more complex manner. As such, the perfor-
mance of colorblind ideology is more nuanced and insidious. For example, recent
research (Jayakumar & Adamian, 2017) documents an emerging fifth frame of
colorblind ideology—the disconnected power-analysis frame— that represents an
adaptation of colorblindness to contexts wherein race salience and fragility are
heightened for White students. With these challenges in mind, diversity research
connected to racial equity must work to address the prevalence of White fragility and
colorblind ideology within diversity infrastructures and across campus.

2.5.5 Advancing Inquiries That Are Mindful

of the Possibilities and Limitations of Quantification
in Diversity Research and the Potential of Innovative
Research Methods

In line with a CRP-Ed approach, it is important to think not only about the content of
the inquiries we have just outlined, but also the methods we will use in future
research—particularly, what they will illuminate and where they will have blind
spots. When it comes to diversity, future research may consider both the limitations
and possibilities of the quantification of merit, as well as the benefits linked with
engagement with racial diversity. The aforementioned co-optation of Espenshade
and Radford’s (2009) work to promote the misconception that Asian Americans
need certain SAT scores to be admitted to selective institutions is a powerful
example of how the quantification of merit in statistical analyses can lead to
information that is too easily misinterpreted and misconstrued by the public. In
this example, analyses that primarily relied on limited indicators of merit such as
SAT scores and GPAs to predict the odds of acceptance led to problematic
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 65

conclusions about the nature of admissions and the ability to predict one’s likelihood
of acceptance.
At the same time, quantitative analyses can still serve as a powerful tool to
challenge assumptions around the effectiveness of various approaches to admis-
sions. As noted earlier, using agent-based simulation models, Reardon et al. (2015)
found that simulations where both race and class were considered produced more
economic diversity than simulations where class alone was weighed strongly and
race was not considered at all as a “plus” factor. Their findings, while counterintu-
itive, are helpful in showing how class-alone policies fail to capture the full extent of
economic disadvantage due to the unique intersectionality between race and class.
The use of quantitative methods in admissions simulations can lead to misinterpre-
tation when variables that influence admissions decisions, such as essays, teacher
recommendations, and the quality of extracurricular involvement, are omitted. In
contrast, Reardon et al.’s (2015) analysis is arguably more effective because it is able
to compare numerous simulations with scenarios that give different weights to race
and class, respectively, while operating under the assumption that less quantifiable
factors (e.g., essay quality) would be held consistent.
Thus, an ongoing recommendation for future quantitative analyses is that they
simply be qualified and contextualized—that researchers have a responsibility to
explain what implications can be drawn from their results and what conclusions are
less appropriate or unsubstantiated in the data. Of course, it may be difficult to
anticipate all of the potential assumptions or implications of a study, but we suggest
that researchers should be cognizant that this work is all too easily politicized or
co-opted for purposes beyond original intent. The growing visibility of critical
quantitative analyses in higher education (Carter & Hurtado, 2007; Stage & Wells,
2014) also raises questions around paradigms and approaches utilized by quantita-
tive research—whether post-positivism really results in a “do no harm” ethic, or
whether post-positivism without sensitivity to diverse populations may perpetuate
deficit perspectives or false understandings of the experiences of people of color.11
Baez (2004) powerfully recognized the limits of quantification, in particular to
capture the educational benefits of diversity. In “The Study of Diversity: The
‘Knowledge of Difference’ and the Limits of Science,” he noted how a heavy
reliance on quantitative research implicitly or explicitly narrowed the public’s ability
to value easily quantifiable educational benefits, which could lead to a devaluing of
traits that are more difficult to capture through survey instruments, but that are no
less critical to the development and flourishing of students. Quantitative, qualitative,
and mixed-methods work can all play a critical role in capturing the multifaceted
ways that students engage with diversity, as well as identify inequities and injustices
that may be perpetuated in its name. Ethnographic work in particular has highlighted

11
Post-positivism is the implicit paradigm guiding the majority of quantitative research. Unlike its
predecessor, positivism, it rejects the complete detachment and conviction that absolute truth can be
found. Post-positivism generally adheres to the idea that researchers can identify cause-and-effect
relationships, that truth is more objective and standardized (versus subject to interpretation), and
that objectivity and detachment are ideal stances for approaching research (Creswell, 2013).
66 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

the influence of pervasive systematic inequality on well-intentioned efforts to pro-

mote diverse and inclusive environments (see, for example, Park, 2013; Posselt,
2016; Warikoo, 2016). Methods such as critical discourse analysis represent prom-
ising tools to advance the study of race, racism, diversity, and equity (Goldstein
Hode, 2014).
The emerging study of social networks and social ties (Clarke & antonio, 2012;
González Canaché, D’Amico, Rios-Aguilar, & Salas, 2014; McCabe, 2016), which
seeks to understand the interconnectedness of students within particular networks, is
another area ripe for better understanding how peers influence individuals’ interac-
tions across racial and ethnic lines. In particular, the role of subcultures and peer
groups can help elucidate dynamics that have previously been assumed to be more
related to individual student choice and agency (Clarke & antonio, 2012; Park &
Kim, 2013). Research using the subculture as the primary unit of analysis also
unveils patterns such as how participation in ethnic student organizations is actually
linked with higher rates of cross-racial interaction for students, including students of
color (Bowman & Park, 2014), challenging the assumption that such communities
contribute to the negative balkanization of campuses.
Studies of social networks and connections are among the first to take on the
overwhelming but critical question of how technology and social media influence
student interactions and engagement (Davis, Deil-Amen, Rios-Aguilar, & González
Canaché, 2015). Given that the very nature and understanding of what constitutes
“interaction” is subject to constant evolution due to the pervasiveness of social
media (Park, Buckley, & Koo, 2017), innovative methods and approaches to study-
ing how this type of technology influences racial dynamics is greatly needed.
Additionally, creative methods are needed to account for the limitations of self-
reported data in patterns of cross-racial interaction and interracial friendships. While
techniques like name recall represent an improvement over self-reports, the rise of
technology and social media also represent potential opportunities for researchers to
mine data on student engagement across race.

2.6 Conclusion

Diversity scholarship has a long history with ties to particular legal contexts. This
history has created particular agendas and approaches that have not always effec-
tively served a racial justice agenda. A more critical awareness of how diversity
discourses are being diluted and diminished can support future scholarship that
actively challenges the co-optation of the initial diversity agenda and the long-
term radical hope rooted in the policies that preceded it, including race-based
affirmative action. Researchers must focus in on particular analyses that address
outstanding questions in legal strategy and issues raised by the U.S. Supreme Court
in dissenting opinions and by swing vote Justices; they must challenge the
co-optation of diversity in both the legal and institutional policy contexts. But
2 Reclaiming Diversity: Advancing the Next Generation of Diversity. . . 67

diversity scholars must also “zoom out” for the larger view and operate with a critical
consciousness about the hegemonic social and legal context shaping the debate.
It is essential that diversity scholars not lose sight of the broader roots of racial
inequalities in higher education and the mechanisms that have created the need for
affirmative action in the first place, including traditional notions of meritocracy and
admissions metrics, a legacy of exclusion, and present day barriers to inclusion.
Research that seeks to inform and agitate the policy debate about race-conscious
practices and institutional diversity discourses can be impactful. However, as a
CRP-Ed approach reminds us, this work involves negotiating within contradictions
and must be guided by a critical consciousness about hegemonic forces at play
(Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015a). It also requires an understanding of how reliance
on interest convergence is limiting, wherein incremental racial progress is met with
co-optation and dilution of the concessions made by those in power (Bell, 1980;
Garces & Gordon da Cruz, 2017; Jayakumar & Adamian, 2015a).
As we discussed in Part I of this manuscript, early diversity research was
advocacy-oriented and strategic. Although it had a limited role in advancing racial
justice, it contributed toward desegregating postsecondary institutions. As the
agenda became institutionalized, however, it was employed for other purposes and
diluted when it came to racial justice. Thus, in Part II of this manuscript, we
discussed how this progression unfolded, using the lens of interest convergence to
name the challenges of advancing racial equity within the affirmative action debate.
Just as scholars who initiated the body of work on diversity contemplated how to
inform the different legislative and policy decisions leading up to the Grutter (2003)
and Gratz (2003) Supreme Court cases, future scholars can advance the work by
addressing the watered down conception of diversity that has taken hold and the
current political climate of racial backlash and colorblind interpretations of the law.
Recognizing and leveraging resistance, consciousness raising, and grassroots
efforts that generate interest convergence expansions can help to push policy
conversations around diversity and race in more critical directions (Jayakumar &
Adamian, 2015a). Future diversity research must strategically recognize interest
convergence (including both constrictions and expansions), and advance areas of
inquiry that can be useful for expanding knowledge and leveraging advocacy across
multiple spheres of influence—including the legal paradigm and institutional policy
constraints—to the root mechanisms that support problematic institutional policies
and practices (e.g., admissions and notions of meritocracy), to understandings of
diversity that recognize and benefit from critical race critiques and increased public
consciousness about racism that is generated by grassroots efforts. This approach
can actualize the initial intent and fulfill the promise of diversity research to inform
and generate more racially equitable policies and practices in higher education.

Acknowledgements We thank Anne-Marie Núñez for the invitation and opportunity to reflect on
the needs of future diversity research. This piece greatly benefited from Anne-Marie’s and Karen
Jarsky’s thoughtful comments and editing of prior drafts. Uma Jayakumar thanks the Spencer
Foundation for supporting this work, particularly through the 2016–2017 Midcareer Grant. The
68 U. M. Jayakumar et al.

views expressed herein are not necessarily those of the Spencer Foundation or of anyone other than
the authors.

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Chapter 3
Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching
and Learning Literature

John M. Braxton, Clay H. Francis, Jenna W. Kramer,

and Christopher R. Marsicano

In his 1990 volume Scholarship Reconsidered: Priorities for the Professoriate,

Boyer delineated the importance of expanding the definition of scholarship beyond
the predominate emphasis on the scholarship of discovery to include three other
domains of scholarship: the scholarships of application, integration, and teaching. Of
the four domains, the scholarship of teaching invokes the most attention in the
literature (Braxton, Luckey, & Helland, 2002).
This scholarly attention includes such matters as defining the goals and objectives
of the scholarship of teaching, offering conceptual perspectives on this domain of
scholarship, and determining the extent to which faculty publish scholarship reflec-
tive of this scholarship domain. In addition to Boyer (1990), scholars such as Rice
(1991), Hutchings and Shulman (1999), Kreber (2002) and Braxton et al. (2002)
offer viewpoints on the goals and objectives of the scholarship of teaching. To
provide some direction in this matter, Braxton et al. (2002) posit the goal of the
scholarship of teaching as the development and improvement of pedagogical prac-
tice. Moreover, Hutchings and Shulman (1999) assert that the scholarship of teach-
ing is a process through which the profession of teaching itself advances as it
transpires with one eye on improvement of one’s own teaching and the other on
the practice of teaching. Hutchings and Shulman also posit that the scholarship of
teaching requires a focus on student learning by addressing such questions as how

J. M. Braxton (*)
Policy and Organizations, Peabody College of Vanderbilt University, Nashville, TN, USA
e-mail: [email protected]
C. H. Francis
Upper School Faculty, Hutchison School, Memphis, TN, USA
J. W. Kramer · C. R. Marsicano
Leadership and Policy Studies, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, TN, USA

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 81

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_3
82 J. M. Braxton et al.

learning occurs and under what conditions students learn. These questions link
teaching and learning, which gives rise to the term SOTL, or the Scholarship of
Teaching and Learning.
Conceptual perspectives on the scholarship of teaching and learning include
formulations that situate this form of scholarship within the context of social action
systems. Paulsen and Feldman (1995) contend that scholarship constitutes a social
action system. For their existence and effectiveness, social action systems require the
performance of four functional imperatives: adaptation, goal attainment, pattern
maintenance, and integration (Parsons & Smelser, 1956; Parsons & Platt, 1973).
Paulsen and Feldman posit the scholarship of teaching as performing the functional
imperative of adaptation of scholarship as a system of social action. Adaptation
entails interactions with the external environment to acquire resources to develop
and maintain the social action system (Parsons & Platt, 1973). The scholarship of
teaching contributes to adaptation by exchanging the transmission of knowledge for
student enrollments (Paulsen & Feldman, 1995).
Moreover, Paulsen and Feldman (2006) extend this earlier work by conceptual-
izing the scholarship of teaching as a distinct system of social action. They present a
model of the scholarship of teaching and learning as social action systems comprised
of aspects of teaching that perform each of the four functional imperatives previously
delineated (Paulsen & Feldman, 2006). Paulsen and Feldman present this model as
an analytical framework for the clarification, organization and discussion of the
literature of the scholarship of teaching and learning.
Further conceptual approaches to the scholarship of teaching and learning include
Weimer’s (2006) Enhancing Scholarly Work on Teaching and Learning: Profes-
sional Literature that Makes a Difference. In this landmark book, Weimer delineates
a classification schema to array published work on the scholarship of teaching and
learning, or as she puts it, “pedagogical scholarship” (p. 39). Through her own
reading and analysis, Weimer delineates various approaches used by practitioners to
describe and understand teaching and learning in the published literature on this
topic. She contends, “To advance our understanding of scholarly work on teaching
and learning we need many thoughtful perspectives on its structure (Weimer, 2006,
p. 40)”. In a subsequent section of this chapter, we describe the various approaches
delineated by Weimer (2006).
On a more concrete level Braxton et al. (2002) empirically addressed the question
of the extent to which faculty publish works associated with each of the four domains
of scholarship delineated by Boyer including the scholarship of teaching. Another
empirical piece focused on the institutional affiliations of faculty members who
published articles in four teaching-focused journals (Henderson & Buchanan, 2007).
Weimer’s (2006) work described above also constitutes an empirical treatment of the
scholarship of teaching and learning as she provides examples of published works
that exemplify the approaches to classifying such scholarship she identified.
Beyond such macro-level attention to the scholarship of teaching and learning,
discipline-specific interest in the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (SOTL) has
been one of the major driving forces behind this field’s growth (Healey, 2000), but
there are few broad, cross-discipline investigations into the nature of the types of
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 83

scholarship that are published in this literature. Instead, most of the literature still
focuses on setting the boundary for what is considered to be SOTL or what the
implications of SOTL should be (Gilpin & Liston, 2009). Additionally, Gurung &
Schwartz (2010, p. 3) argue that SOTL research has entered its third wave, and as
such, there exists a “need to situate all the myriad studies of pedagogical research in a
common context.” In short, researchers in the SOTL community should ask, “what
kinds of research are being pursued, where is this research heading, and why [?]”
(Woodhouse, 2010, p. 5).
SOTL researchers in some disciplines—namely sociology—have endeavored to
review the work in their field and classify the types of scholarship. Paino,
Blankenship, Grauerholz, & Chin (2012) reviewed 25 years of articles in Teaching
Sociology to update and extend research by Baker (1985) and Chin (2002) on
whether the sociology SOTL literature included empirically rigorous evaluations,
who was publishing SOTL articles, and whether there was a focus on assessment.
More than 25 years have transpired since the publication of Boyer’s (1990)
Scholarship Reconsidered: Priorities for the Professoriate and more than 10 years
have passed since the publication of Weimer’s Enhancing Scholarly Work on
Teaching and Learning: Professional Literature that Makes a Difference (2006).
The number of teaching-focused journals also now approximates 50 journals. These
particulars strongly indicate a need to take stock of the literature on the scholarship
of teaching and learning. In addition to these particulars, the calls for such stocktak-
ing by scholars such as Paulsen and Feldman (2006) and Weimer (2006) reinforce
the need for such an appraisal of the SOTL or as Weimer calls it “pedagogical
scholarship.”
We contend that the first step in such a stocktaking process should take the form
of an inventory of the SOTL literature. An inventory of this literature should precede
efforts to summarize the contents of this literature given the uncertain properties of
this body of work. Consequently, an inventory of the literature of the scholarship of
teaching and learning (SOTL) or pedagogical scholarship constitutes the purpose of
this chapter. We use the terms SOTL and pedagogical scholarship interchangeably
throughout this chapter.

3.1 Chapter Overview

This inventory takes the form of a review of articles published over a span of 5 years
between 2012 and 2016 in four teaching-focused journals. The four journals we
reviewed include Bioscience: Journal of College Biology Teaching (biology), The
Journal of Chemical Education (chemistry), Teaching History (history) and Teach-
ing Sociology (sociology). We reviewed only articles focused on undergraduate
instruction in higher education. We did not review editorials, letters, news items,
or other similar types of writings. The four academic disciplines represented by these
four journals correspond to the four academic disciplines used by Braxton et al.
(2002) in their research on faculty engagement in Boyer’s four domains of
84 J. M. Braxton et al.

scholarship including the scholarship of teaching. Academic disciplines vary in

terms of their level of consensus on such matters as theoretical orientation, research
methods, and the importance of various research questions to the advancement of the
discipline (Biglan, 1973; Kuhn, 1962, 1970; Lodahl & Gordon, 1972). Biology and
chemistry stand as high consensus disciplines whereas history and sociology con-
stitute low consensus disciplines. However, all four of these disciplines are pure in
their orientation (Biglan, 1973).
From their extensive review of the literature on academic disciplines, Braxton and
Hargens (1996) concluded that low consensus disciplines are more oriented toward
teaching than their counterparts are in high consensus disciplines. This greater
orientation toward teaching finds expression in more time spent on teaching, a
greater interest in teaching, and an affinity for teaching activities and practices
designed to improve undergraduate education (Braxton, 1995; Braxton & Hargens,
1996; Braxton, Olsen & Simmons, 1998). A recent update of this research—using
student perceptions instead of faculty self-reports of use of good practices—simi-
larly concluded that students in low consensus disciplines report greater faculty use
of prompt feedback and setting high expectations than those in high consensus
disciplines; however, students also reported that faculty in high consensus disci-
plines make greater use of cooperative learning than their counterparts in low
consensus disciplines (Kilgo, Culver, Young & Paulsen, 2017). Given such disci-
plinary differences, the articles published in these four teaching-focused journals
may differ according to their approach to the scholarship of teaching and learning.
We restrict this inventory to a classification of the articles we reviewed in the
above four teaching-oriented journals over the 5-year period from 2012–2016.
Given that an inventory stands as the purpose this chapter, we do not engage in
the scholarship of integration, as we do not place the content of these articles into a
larger intellectual pattern (Boyer, 1990) nor do we integrate the content of these
articles into a large body of concepts and facts (Halpern et al., 1998). The outcome of
this inventory should provide scholars with the foundation for engagement in a
scholarship of integration of such content. In the next section, we describe the
process we used to classify the articles we reviewed.

3.1.1 The Classification of the Articles

We previously noted that Weimer (2006) demarcates approaches to describe and

understand the published literature of pedagogical scholarship. She makes a distinc-
tion between “wisdom of practice scholarship” and “research scholarship”. Weimer
states that wisdom of practice scholarship emanates from the experiences of practi-
tioners as “faculty learn about teaching as they teach” (2006, p. 40). She delineates
four different approaches to wisdom of practice scholarship: personal accounts of
change, recommended-practices reports, recommended-content reports, and
personal narratives (Weimer, 2006). In contrast, research scholarship entails the
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 85

use of “established research protocols” to study teaching and learning (Weimer,

2006, p. 42). Research scholarship includes quantitative investigations, qualitative
studies and descriptive research (Weimer, 2006).
In order to ensure reliable classification of articles in our content analysis, the
coding authors worked collaboratively to ensure a systematic classification of
elements of text. After the development of an initial template based on the wisdom-
of-practice scholarship and research scholarship approaches described by Weimar
(2006), we calculated inter-coder reliability estimates for individually-coded articles
across the journals. Initial reliability was not up to standard, so the template was
edited to be more specific (Tables 3.1a and 3.1b), in order to allow for standardized
review and classification of the article and analysis types. We derived the charac-
teristics and words, phrases, and operatives based on the texts of the articles that we
had coded and discussed to that point. Our reading was guided by the questions:
What does the author intend for other faculty to learn from this article? How did they
analyze data in order to arrive at these recommendations?
The various classifications for type of article include Personal Account of
Change, Recommended-Practices Report, Recommended-Content Report, and Per-
sonal Narrative. In a Personal Account of Change, the author describes a change to a
curricular or pedagogical policy or practice (Weimer, 2006). Recommended-
Practices Reports describe instructional methods for a course or discipline (Weimer,
2006). A Recommended-Content Report endorses particular topics, readings, or
units for other faculty members to include in their courses (Weimer, 2006). In
Personal Narratives, authors reflect upon their teaching with a critical eye toward
their practice and content (Weimer, 2006). Table 3.1a exhibits the words, phrases,
and operatives the coding team used to classify an article into one of these four types
of articles.
These types of articles employed a number of distinct methods of analysis,
including quantitative, qualitative, and mixed methods analyses, as well as descrip-
tive reporting, literature reviews, and personal reflection. Quantitative analyses
leveraged experimental or quasi-experimental design in order to estimate the effect
of practice or content (Weimer, 2006). Qualitative analyses examined phenomena in
their natural environments and employed analyses in a positivist or interpretative
manner (Weimer, 2006). An article was coded as mixed methods when it employed
both quantitative and qualitative methods of evaluation. Descriptive articles used
data in general and survey data in particular to describe phenomena in a
non-evaluative way (Weimer, 2006). Literature reviews compiled and commented
on the extant literature on practice or content. Personal reflection articles detailed the
authors’ impressions or interpretations of practice or content in a non-empirical
fashion. Table 3.1b presents the words, phrases, and operatives the coding team
used to classify an article into one of these six types of analyses.
In addition to type of article and type of analyses, we also classified articles
according to their topical focus. We derived various topics from the delineation of
publications reflective of the goals of the scholarship of teaching by Braxton et al.
(2002). These focal topics include a new teaching approach developed by the author
and alterations to a teaching approach. After initial coding, the coding team edited
86 J. M. Braxton et al.

for specificity and added a number of subcategories to give more specificity to the
elements of the various topical foci of the articles for classification.
As indicated by Tables 3.1a and 3.1b, our classification constitutes a refinement
of Weimer’s (2006) classification schema. Both the types of articles and types of
analyses stand as refinements.

Table 3.1a Characteristics utilized for classification of study type

Type of article
Personal
account of Recommended- Recommended-
change practices report content report Personal narrative
Characteristics
Description of Recommends instruc- Recommends content Reflective or critical
change in pol- tional methods for a for a particular course account of growth or evo-
icy or practice. course or discipline. or discipline. lution. May take a position.
Words, Verbs, Operatives
Adaptation Pedagogy Illustrate Reflection
Application Method Demonstrate Critique
Replication Practice Source Growth
Development
Evolution
Advocacy
Emotions

Table 3.1b Characteristics utilized for classification of analysis type

Type of analysis
Mixed Literature Personal
Quantitative Qualitative methods Descriptive review reflection
Characteristics
Experimental Examination Study Data employed Compilation Non-empiri-
or quasi- of phenome- employs to report and critique cal reflection
experimental non in natu- both quanti- non-evaluative of the extant of author on
design ralistic set- tative analy- description of a literature. the subject of
intended to ting. Data sis and phenomenon. May take a study.
estimate analyzed in qualitative position.
effect. positivist or evaluation.
interpretive
manner.
Words, Verbs, Operatives
Experiment Interview Survey Existing Impression
Quasi- Focus group Non-evaluative Body of Interpretation
experiment literature
Pre-test/post- Observation Describe Status Emotion
test
Survey Explain Critique
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 87

3.1.2 Inter-Coder Reliability

Based on the classification of the SOTL literature described above, we created a

codebook with mutually exclusive categories for type of article and type of analysis.
This codebook made use of Tables 3.1a and 3.1b. To ensure reliability among the
three coders, we randomly sampled ten articles for review by all coders. Hallgren
(2012) recommends the Fleiss’s kappa statistic to measure the interrater reliability
when there are more than two coders and the data are categorical (Fleiss, 1971). The
measure of agreement was low in the first review, so the coders met to discuss and
review the descriptions of the categories before randomly sampling another ten
articles for review. In this second review, the Fleiss’s kappa statistic for type of
article was 0.497 and for the type of analysis, it was 0.713. This indicates that there
was moderate agreement for the type of article and substantial agreement for type of
analysis. During the coding process, the three reviewers held back any article that did
not clearly fit into one of the categories, and we discussed as a group how to code
those articles. Finally, one reviewer coded approximately 92% of the articles.

3.1.3 Description of Our Data Base

Our database consists of 425 coded articles. The number of coded articles ranges
from a low of 14 for Teaching History to a high of 295 for the Journal of Chemical
Education. We coded 18 articles published in Bioscene and 98 articles published in
Teaching Sociology. The Journal of Chemical Education is published each month
whereas Bioscene and Teaching History are published twice a year. Teaching
Sociology appears quarterly.

3.2 An Inventory of SOTL Scholarship

Type of article, type of analyses, and the type of analysis juxtaposed to type of article
provide a basis for the delineation of the inventory of the literature of pedagogical
scholarship or the scholarship of teaching and learning. We also address variation
across the four teaching-focused journals by the type of article, the type of analysis,
and the type of analysis juxtaposed to type of article. Because of Boyer’s (1990)
prescriptions for institutional emphasis on the scholarship of teaching, we also attend
to the institutional affiliation of the first author of the coded articles by the type of
article and across the four teaching-centered journals. We used the categories of the
88 J. M. Braxton et al.

2015 Carnegie Classification of Institutions to demarcate the institutional affiliation

of the first author.

3.2.1 Type of Article

Recommended-Practices Reports prevail as the most frequent type of article

appearing across the four teaching-focused journals used in this Inventory.
Recommended-Practices Reports advocate instructional methods for a course or an
academic discipline (Weimer, 2006). Weimer refers to this type of article as “advice-
giving” (2006, p. 41). As indicated by Table 3.2, more than two-thirds (64.00%) of
the articles coded stand as a recommended-practice report. Recommended-Content
reports constitute the second most frequent type of article given that 29.00% of all
articles coded fit this category of types of articles. The type of article recommends
content for a particular course or academic discipline (Weimer, 2006). Table 3.2 also
shows that personal narratives (3.00%) and personal accounts (2.00%) of change
rarely appear.
This same pattern of frequencies obtains when we look at the type of articles
published in each of the four SOTL journals. Table 3.3 shows that recommended-
practices reports predominate in three of the four SOTL journals. Specifically, over

Table 3.2 Types of articles Personal account of change 8 (2%)

for all journals
Recommend-practices report 271 (64%)
Recommend-content report 124 (29%)
Personal narrative 10 (2%)
None of the above categories 12 (3%)
Total 425

Table 3.3 Types of studies for individual journals

Journal of Chemical Teaching Teaching
Bioscene Education History Sociology
Personal account of 1 (6%) 2 (1%) 1 (8%) 4 (4%)
change
Rrecommend-practices 12 191 (65%) 5 (36%) 63 (64%)
report (61%)
Recommend-content 2 (11%) 93 (32%) 5 (36%) 24 (24%)
report
Personal narrative 1 (6%) 4 (1%) 2 (14%) 3 (3%)
None of the above 2 (11%) 5 (2%) 1 (8%) 4 (4%)
categories
Total articles 18 295 14 98
Column percentages in parentheses
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 89

60% of the coded articles published in Bioscene (61.00%), the Journal of Chemical
Education (65.00%) and Teaching Sociology (64.00%) stand as recommended
practices reports. In contrast, more than a third (36.00%) of coded articles published
in Teaching History are recommended-practices reports. Likewise, more than a third
(36.00%) of the coded articles appearing in Teaching History stand as reports of
recommended content. Moreover, about a third (32.00%) of articles published in
the Journal of Chemical Education during the period of 2012 to 2016 and
24.00% of articles published in Teaching Sociology during this same period of
time also prevail as recommended content reports. As indicated by Table 3.3,
Personal Accounts of Change and Personal Narratives rarely appear in print in
each of these four SOTL journals.

3.2.2 Type of Analysis

Weimer (2006) describes “research scholarship” as comprised of descriptive

research, quantitative investigations, and qualitative investigations. For our analysis,
we use these three categories of analysis, as well as literature review, personal
reflection and mixed-methods. We acknowledge that mixed methods stands as a
form of research scholarship. However, to be consistent with Weimer’s depiction of
“research scholarship” we do not include mixed methods within this category of
types of analyses in our presentation of findings regarding types of analyses.
As indicated by Table 3.4, research scholarship (descriptive research, quantitative
investigations, and qualitative investigations) dominates given that 81% of analyses
used fit this category of analysis. More specifically, descriptive research constitutes
the most frequently occurring type of analysis across the four SOTL journals as 63%
of all coded articles used this type of analysis. Descriptive research analyses
endeavor to describe or explain a particular phenomenon based on an analysis of
survey results (Weimer, 2006). Weimer states that descriptive research stands as the
“largest and most well-developed type of analysis” (Weimer, 2006, p. 43). Analyses
that employ experimental or quasi-experimental designs constitute quantitative
analyses. This particular type of analysis (11%) stands as the next most frequent
type of analysis. Moreover, we also note that personal reflection occurs less

Table 3.4 Types of analyses Quantitative 45 (11%)

for all journals
Qualitative 31 (7%)
Mixed methods 19 (4%)
Descriptive 269 (63%)
Literature review 11 (3%)
Personal reflection 36 (8%)
None of the above categories 14 (3%)
Total 425
90 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.5 Types of analyses for individual journals

Journal of Chemical Teaching Teaching
Bioscene Education History Sociology
Quantitative 6 (33%) 28 (10%) 0 11 (11%)
Qualitative 0 13 (4%) 0 18 (18%)
Mixed methods 4 (22%) 4 (1%) 0 11 (11%)
Descriptive 6 (33%) 226 (77%) 0 37 (38%)
Literature Review 0 10 (3%) 1 (8%) 0
Personal reflection 2 (11%) 9 (3%) 8 (57%) 17 (17%)
None of the above 0 5 (2%) 5 (36%) 4 (4%)
categories
Total articles 18 295 14 98
Column percentages in parentheses

frequently (8%) as do qualitative methods (7%). And analyses using mixed methods
(4%) and literature reviews (3%) occur the least frequently.
A different picture emerges when we consider the distribution of the types of
analysis across each of the four discipline-specific SOTL journals. Table 3.5 exhibits
this distribution. For example, descriptive analyses prevail in the coded articles of
the Journal of Chemical Education as more than three-fourths (77%) of articles fit
this description. In contrast, personal reflections dominate as the type of analysis
found in Teaching History given that we coded 57% of the articles in this journal as
such. We also note that 36% of the coded articles of Teaching History fail to fit any
of the types of analyses. Personal reflections rarely occur in Bioscene (11%) and The
Journal of Chemical Education (3%).
The type of analyses described in articles appearing in Bioscene and Teaching
Sociology show more variation than the other two SOTL journals. To elaborate,
Table 3.5 indicates that the modal percentage of articles published in Bioscene take
the form of quantitative (33%) and descriptive (33%) type analyses. Mixed methods
also account for 22% of such articles. More variation obtains in Teaching Sociology
as the proportion of articles ranges from a low of 4% for articles that fail to align with
any of the other categories of analyses through 11% for quantitative analyses to a
high of 38% for descriptive analyses.
Literature reviews as a form of analysis occur rarely across the four SOTL
journals. Specifically, none of the coded articles of Bioscene or Teaching Sociology
used literature reviews as a form of analysis. Nevertheless, literature reviews appear
but very infrequently (8%) in Teaching History and the Journal of Chemical
Education (3%).

3.2.3 Type of Analysis Juxtaposed to Type of Article

Table 3.6 juxtaposes the type of article with the type of analysis employed. Table 3.6
shows that descriptive analyses predominate as the analytical foundation for
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 91

Table 3.6 Cross tabulations for type of study and type of analysis, full sample
None of Personal
the above account Personal Recommended- Recommended-
categories of change narrative content report practices report Total
None of the 10 0 0 4 0 14
above
categories
83.33 0.00 0.00 3.23 0.00 3.29
Descriptive 0 2 5 78 184 269
0.00 25.00 50.00 62.90 67.90 63.29
Literature 0 0 0 10 1 11
review
0.00 0.00 0.00 8.06 0.37 2.59
Mixed 0 0 0 4 15 19
methods
0.00 0.00 0.00 3.23 5.54 4.47
Personal 0 2 5 10 19 36
reflection
0.00 25.00 50.00 8.06 7.01 8.47
Qualitative 0 1 0 15 15 31
0.00 12.50 0.00 12.10 5.54 7.29
Quantitative 2 3 0 3 37 45
16.67 37.50 0.00 2.42 13.65 10.59
Total 12 8 10 124 271 425
100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
N 425
Column percentages listed under proportions

recommended-practice reports given that more than two thirds (67.90%) of

recommended-practice reports make use of descriptive analyses. Quantitative ana-
lyses (13.65%) or the use of experimental or quasi-experimental design stand as the
second most frequent type of analysis used in recommended practice reports. As
previously stated, Weimer (2006) viewed research scholarship as comprised of
descriptive research, quantitative investigations, and qualitative investigations. If
we combine these three types of analyses using the percentages exhibited in
Table 3.6, the overwhelming majority (87.10%) of recommend-practice reports
make use of research scholarship. In stark contrast, less than ten percent (7.01%)
of recommended-practice reports spring from personal reflections. Descriptive ana-
lyses also prevail as the basis for recommended-content report. As indicated by
Table 3.6 about two-thirds (62.90%) of recommended-content reports emanate from
descriptive analyses. Moreover, like recommended practice reports, research schol-
arship (descriptive research, quantitative and qualitative investigations combined)
provides the basis for the vast majority (77.42%) of recommended content reports.
However, personal reflection infrequently (8.06%) underlies recommended content
reports.
Tables 3.7, 3.8, 3.9, and 3.10 exhibit the juxtaposition of type of analysis for
different types of articles for each of the four discipline-specific SOTL journals.
92 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.7 Cross tabulations for type of study and type of analysis, Bioscene
None of Personal
the above account Personal Recommended- Recommended-
categories of change narrative content report practices report Total
Descriptive 0 0 1 1 4 6
0.00 0.00 100.00 50.00 33.33 33.33
Mixed 0 0 0 1 3 4
Methods
0.00 0.00 0.00 50.00 25.00 22.22
Personal 0 0 0 0 2 2
reflection
0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 16.67 11.11
Quantitative 2 1 0 0 3 6
100.00 100.00 0.00 0.00 25.00 33.33
Total 2 1 1 2 12 18
100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
N 18
Column percentages listed under proportions

Table 3.8 Cross tabulations for type of study and type of analysis, Journal of Chemical Education
None of Personal
the above account Personal Recommended- Recommended-
categories of change narrative content report practices report Total
None of the 5 0 0 0 0 5
above
categories
100.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 1.69
Descriptive 0 1 4 68 153 226
0.00 50.00 100.00 73.12 80.10 76.61
Literature 0 0 0 10 0 10
review
0.00 0.00 0.00 10.75 0.00 3.39
Mixed 0 0 0 0 4 4
Methods
0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 2.09 1.36
Personal 0 0 0 7 2 9
reflection
0.00 0.00 0.00 7.53 1.05 3.05
Qualitative 0 0 0 6 7 13
0.00 0.00 0.00 6.45 3.66 4.41
Quantitative 0 1 0 2 25 28
0.00 50.00 0.00 2.15 13.09 9.49
Total 5 2 4 93 191 295
100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
N 295
Column percentages listed under proportions
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 93

Table 3.9 Cross tabulations for type of study and type of analysis, Teaching History
None of Personal
the above account of Personal Recommended- Recommended-
categories change narrative content report practices report Total
None of 1 0 0 4 0 5
the above
categories
100.00 0.00 0.00 80.00 0.00 35.71
Literature 0 0 0 0 1 1
review
0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 20.00 7.14
Personal 0 1 2 1 4 8
reflection
0.00 100.00 100.00 20.00 80.00 57.14
Total 1 1 2 5 5 14
100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
N 14
Column percentages listed under proportions

Table 3.10 Cross tabulations for type of study and type of analysis, Teaching Sociology
None of Personal
the above account Personal Recommended- Recommended-
categories of change narrative content report practices report Total
None of the 4 0 0 0 0 4
above
categories
100.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 0.00 4.08
Descriptive 0 1 0 9 27 37
0.00 25.00 0.00 37.50 42.86 37.76
Mixed 0 0 0 3 8 11
methods
0.00 0.00 0.00 12.50 12.70 11.22
Personal 0 1 3 2 11 17
reflection
0.00 25.00 100.00 8.33 17.46 17.35
Qualitative 0 1 0 9 8 18
0.00 25.00 0.00 37.50 12.70 18.37
Quantitative 0 1 0 1 9 11
0.00 25.00 0.00 4.17 14.29 11.22
Total 4 4 3 24 63 98
100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
N 98
Column percentages listed under proportions
94 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.7 pertains to Bioscene, Table 3.8 concerns the Journal of Chemical
Education, Table 3.9 relates to Teaching History and Table 3.10 focuses on
Teaching Sociology.
For Bioscene, descriptive research (33.30%) and quantitative investigations
(25.00%) together account for nearly 60% (58.30%) of the type of analyses that
provide the underpinning for recommended-practice reports published in this jour-
nal. Moreover, two of the twelve recommended-practice reports published in
Bioscene stems from personal reflection. For recommended-content reports, mixed
methods and descriptive research supply the basis for this type of article published in
Bioscene. However, we note from Table 3.7 that only two recommended-content
reports were published in this journal during the 5 year period used.
Table 3.8 shows that descriptive research (80.10%) and quantitative investiga-
tions (13.09%) comprise the overpowering proportion of the type of analyses that
furnish the footing for recommended-practice reports published in the Journal of
Chemical Education. Of the 93 articles in the Journal of Chemical Education coded
as recommended-content reports, 81.70% of them use a type of research scholarship
(descriptive research, quantitative investigation, or qualitative investigation) as their
empirical foundation. Moreover, personal reflections rarely (7.53%) underpin
recommended content reports.
Of the five recommended practice reports published in Teaching History, per-
sonal reflection underpins four of these five articles and a literature review underlies
the last of these five articles. Of the five recommended content articles appearing in
this journal, one of them springs from a personal reflection. None of the categories of
various types of analyses represented in this Inventory provided the basis for the
remaining four recommended content articles. Table 3.9 provide support for these
observations.
In the case of Teaching Sociology, a sizeable proportion (69.90%) of the
recommended practices reports published in this journal make use of research
scholarship (descriptive research, quantitative investigations and qualitative investi-
gations) as their basis. However, almost one-fifth (17.46%) of such reports originate
from personal reflection. Research scholarship (descriptive research, quantitative
investigations and qualitative investigations) also provides the empirical rock bed for
the vast majority (79.20%) of recommended content reports published in Teaching
Sociology. In contrast to recommended practice reports, only two of the 24 articles
coded as recommended content reports arise from personal reflection. Table 3.10
supports these observations.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 95

3.2.4 Institutional Affiliation of Authors

In Scholarship Reconsidered: Priorities for the Professoriate (1990), Boyer stressed

the importance of colleges and universities defining their missions and aligning their
faculty reward systems with this mission. Accordingly, Boyer (1990) asserted that
the domain of scholarship emphasized by a college or university should align with its
espoused mission. Although he contended that some faculty might engage in all four
domains of scholarship, he viewed the scholarship of teaching as befitting the
teaching-oriented mission of liberal arts colleges (baccalaureate colleges and uni-
versities). Boyer also viewed the scholarship of teaching as suitable for
comprehensive colleges and universities (master’s colleges and universities).
We coded the institutional affiliation of the first authors of the coded articles using
categories of the Carnegie Classification of Institutions (2015). We used all three
levels of the category of doctoral universities: R1-highest research activity,
R2-higher research activity, and R3-moderate research activity. For the institutional
categories of masters colleges and universities, baccalaureate colleges and universi-
ties, associate’s colleges we collapsed the subcategories of these categories and
assigned only the broader institutional category to the first author.
Because recommended practice reports and recommended content reports stand
as the dominant types of articles among the 425 coded articles of this Inventory, we
center our attention on the institutional affiliation of the first authors of these two
types of articles. Table 3.11 exhibits the cross tabulation of type of article with the
institutional type of the first author.
We note from Table 3.11 that first authors at doctoral granting universities with
the highest level of research activity publish the greatest percentage of recommended
practice articles (28.41%), followed by first authors at primarily master’s granting
universities (19.56%). First authors at primarily bachelor’s granting institutions
publish less than 10% of recommended practice reports (9.23%). If we combine
the three subcategories of doctoral universities, we find that first authors at such
universities produce 45% of the recommended practice reports.
For recommended content reports, we observe that first authors at primarily
master’s granting universities publish the greatest proportion (20.16%) of such
articles followed very closely by first authors at doctoral granting universities with
the highest level of research activity (18.55%). First authors at primarily bachelor’s
granting institutions (12.9%) produce a slightly greater percentage of recommended
content reports than they do recommended practice reports. However, by aggregat-
ing the three subcategories of doctoral universities, we find that first authors at such
universities produce 35.48% of recommended content articles.
We also note from Table 3.11 that first authors from doctoral universities of
higher and highest levels of research activity (3 articles) are as likely to publish
personal accounts of change as are authors from primarily bachelor’s and master’s
granting institutions (3 articles) combined. Moreover, first authors from primarily
bachelor’s and master’s granting institutions combined publish one more personal
 96

Table 3.11 Cross tabulations for type of article and institution type of first author, full sample
Personal account of Personal Recommended- Recommended- None of the above
change narrative content report practices report categories Total
Associate’s granting institutions 0 0 2 4 1 7
0.00 0.00 1.61 1.48 8.33 1.65
Primarily bachelor’s granting 1 1 16 25 0 43
institutions
12.50 10.00 12.90 9.23 0.00 10.12
Primarily master’s granting 2 4 25 53 1 85
universities
25.00 40.00 20.16 19.56 8.33 20.00
Doctoral universities—moder- 0 0 8 17 0 25
ate research
0.00 0.00 6.45 6.27 0.00 5.88
Doctoral universities—higher 1 2 13 28 1 45
research
12.50 20.00 10.48 10.33 8.33 10.59
Doctoral universities—highest 2 2 23 77 8 112
research
25.00 20.00 18.55 28.41 66.67 26.35
International university or other 2 1 28 59 1 91
institution
25.00 10.00 22.58 21.77 8.33 21.41
J. M. Braxton et al.
US Company or Governmental 0 0 9 4 0 13
institution
0.00 0.00 7.26 1.48 0.00 3.06
Special focus institution 0 0 0 4 0 4
0.00 0.00 0.00 1.48 0.00 0.94
Total 8 10 124 271 12 425
100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
N 425
Column percentages listed under counts
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature
97
98 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.12 Cross tabulations for journal and institution type of first author, full sample
Journal of
Chemical Teaching Teaching
Bioscene Education History Sociology Total
Associate’s granting 0 4 0 3 7
institutions
0.00 1.36 0.00 3.06 1.65
Primarily bachelor’s 4 28 1 10 43
granting institutions
22.22 9.49 7.14 10.20 10.12
Primarily master’s 7 49 6 23 85
granting universities
38.89 16.61 42.86 23.47 20.00
Doctoral universities— 1 15 1 8 25
moderate research
5.56 5.08 7.14 8.16 5.88
Doctoral universities— 1 28 1 15 45
higher research
5.56 9.49 7.14 15.31 10.59
Doctoral universities— 3 75 1 33 112
highest research
16.67 25.42 7.14 33.67 26.35
International university or 1 84 0 6 91
other institution
5.56 28.47 0.00 6.12 21.41
US company or Govern- 0 9 4 0 13
mental institution
0.00 3.05 28.57 0.00 3.06
Special focus institution 1 3 0 0 4
5.56 1.02 0.00 0.00 0.94
Total 18 295 14 98 425
100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00 100.00
N 425
Column percentages listed under proportions

narrative article (5 articles) than do first authors from doctoral universities from
higher and highest levels of research activity (4 articles).
Institutional affiliation of authors of articles published in each of the four
teaching-focused journals used herein shapes another pertinent focus of our atten-
tion. Table 3.12 displays a cross tabulation of the four journals by institutional
affiliation of the first author.
For Bioscene, first authors at primarily bachelor’s (n ¼ 4) and primarily master’s
granting universities (n ¼ 7) generated 11 of the 18 coded articles of this journal.
First authors at doctoral universities of all three types combined produced another
five articles. Table 3.12 supports these observations.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 99

By aggregating the three subcategories of doctoral universities, we learn that first

authors at such universities produce almost 40% (39.99%) of the coded articles of
the Journal of Chemical Education. From Table 3.12, we also notice that first
authors at primarily bachelors and primarily master’s granting universities pooled
together generated slightly more than 25% of these articles.
Of the 14 coded articles of Teaching History, first authors at primarily bachelor’s
and primarily master’s granting universities merged together produced seven of
these articles. First authors at doctoral universities of all three types conjoined
produced another three articles. Table 3.12 supports these assertions.
First authors at doctoral universities of the highest level of research activity
produced more than a third (33.67%) of the articles published by Teaching Sociol-
ogy. Moreover, first authors at primarily bachelors and primarily master’s granting
universities combined produced an identical proportion (33.67%) of these articles.
However, if we aggregate the three subcategories of doctoral universities the first
authors of these universities generate the majority of articles (57.14%) appearing in
Teaching Sociology. These observations find support in Table 3.12.
Having considered the types of articles, types of analyses, types of analyses
juxtaposed to the types of articles, and the institutional affiliation of authors of the
coded articles, we turn our attention to the topical focus of articles. The topics
pursued by the articles we coded constitute possible candidates for engagement in
a scholarship of integration centered on the contents of these articles. We provide
further elaboration in the section that follows.

3.2.5 Topical Focus of Articles

Under the section “Classification of Articles,” we delineate the possible topical foci
of articles published in SOTL journals. Of these possible foci, we center our
attention on a report of a new teaching approach, a report on author-implemented
practice or content, and a report on alterations made to a teaching approach as
emphases of central importance to the scholarship of teaching and learning. We
view them of central importance because of their congruence with the goal of the
scholarship of teaching and learning as the development and improvement of
pedagogical practice (Braxton et al., 2002). Put differently, new teaching
approaches, author-implemented practices, and alterations to a teaching approach
work towards the development and improvement of pedagogical practice.
Moreover, we present these three teaching initiatives as candidates for a scholar-
ship of integration centered on articles that describe them. As stated elsewhere in this
chapter, the scholarship of integration entails the placement of the content of these
articles into a larger intellectual pattern (Boyer, 1990) as well as the integration of
content of these articles into a large body of concepts and facts (Halpern et al., 1998).
The outcomes of a scholarship of integration focused on these three teaching
initiatives could result in the development of a knowledge base for pedagogical
scholarship. However, such a knowledge base should rest on a rock-bed of empirical
100 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.13 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and new teaching
None of the above categories 14 0 14
approach, full sample
100.00 0.00 100.00
14.14 0.00 3.29
Descriptive 27 242 269
10.04 89.96 100.00
27.27 74.23 63.29
Literature review 6 5 11
54.55 45.45 100.00
6.06 1.53 2.59
Mixed methods 8 11 19
42.11 57.89 100.00
8.08 3.37 4.47
Personal reflection 14 22 36
38.89 61.11 100.00
14.14 6.75 8.47
Qualitative 13 18 31
41.94 58.06 100.00
13.13 5.52 7.29
Quantitative 17 28 45
37.78 62.22 100.00
17.17 8.59 10.59
Total 99 326 425
23.29 76.71 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 425
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

research or as Weimer calls it “research scholarship (2006, p.42).” Therefore, the

following two questions emerge: What types of analyses underpin articles that report
a new teaching approach, an author-implemented practice or alterations to a teaching
approach? Does the type of analyses underlying such articles vary across the four
SOTL journals? We address these questions in the following paragraphs.

3.2.5.1 New Teaching Approach

From Table 3.13, we note that 326 (76.71%) of the articles coded report a new teaching
approach. We also observe that research scholarship (descriptive, quantitative investi-
gations and qualitative investigations) underpins an immense proportion (88.34%) of
those articles that report a teaching approach.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 101

Table 3.14 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
Descriptive 5 1 6
new teaching approach in
Bioscene 83.33 16.67 100.00
35.71 25.00 33.33
Mixed methods 2 2 4
50.00 50.00 100.00
14.29 50.00 22.22
Personal reflection 1 1 2
50.00 50.00 100.00
7.14 25.00 11.11
Quantitative 6 0 6
100.00 0.00 100.00
42.86 0.00 33.33
Total 14 4 18
77.78 22.22 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 18
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

In the case of Bioscene, only four of the coded articles report a new teaching
approach. As indicated by Table 3.14, descriptive research (1 article), mixed
methods (2 articles) and personal reflection (1 article) underlie these four articles.
The Journal of Chemical Education presents a different picture given that 259 of
the 295 coded articles in this journal report a new teaching approach. Of these
259 articles, research scholarship (descriptive, quantitative investigations and qual-
itative investigations) supplies the underlying bases for 94.59% of these articles.
Table 3.15 supports these assertions.
Only two of the 14 coded articles appearing in Teaching History report a new
teaching approach. Personal reflection stands as the undergirding type of analysis for
these two articles. Table 3.16 affords support for this observation.
For Teaching Sociology, 61 of the 98 coded articles published in this SOTL
journal report a new teaching approach. Research scholarship (descriptive, quanti-
tative investigations, and qualitative investigations) underpins more than two-thirds
(68.85%) of these articles reporting a new teaching approach. However, slightly
more than one fifth (21.31%) of these articles originates from personal reflection.
Table 3.17 affords support for these observations.

3.2.5.2 Author—Implemented Practice

Of the 425 coded articles, Table 3.18 shows that 259 (60.94%) of them report an
author-implemented practice. From Table 3.18, we also observe that research schol-
arship (descriptive, quantitative investigations and qualitative investigations)
102 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.15 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 5 0 5
new teaching approach in
Journal of Chemical 100.00 0.00 100.00
Education 13.89 0.00 1.69
Descriptive 14 212 226
6.19 93.81 100.00
38.89 81.85 76.61
Literature review 5 5 10
50.00 50.00 100.00
13.89 1.93 3.39
Mixed methods 1 3 4
25.00 75.00 100.00
2.78 1.16 1.36
Personal reflection 3 6 9
33.33 66.67 100.00
8.33 2.32 3.05
Qualitative 4 9 13
30.77 69.23 100.00
11.11 3.47 4.41
Quantitative 4 24 28
14.29 85.71 100.00
11.11 9.27 9.49
Total 36 259 295
12.20 87.80 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 295
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

provides the foundation for an immense proportion (85.72%) of these articles

reporting an author-implemented practice.
For Bioscene, 12 of the 18 coded articles reports an author-implemented practice.
Moreover, research scholarship (descriptive and quantitative investigations) affords
the basis for more than two thirds (66.6%) of such articles. From Table 3.19, we also
note personal reflection underlies one of these 12 articles that reports an author-
implemented practice.
Almost all of the coded articles (97.1%) published in The Journal of Chemical
Education that report an instructor-implemented practice rest on a foundation of
research scholarship (descriptive, quantitative investigations and qualitative investi-
gations). Moreover, a sizeable majority (58.31%) of the articles appearing in this
Journal report an author-implemented practice. Table 3.20 affords support for these
observations.
Articles that report an author-implemented practice account for 6 of the 14 coded
articles published in Teaching History. In stark contrast to the Journal of Chemical
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 103

Table 3.16 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 5 0 5
new teaching approach in
Teaching History 100.00 0.00 100.00
41.67 0.00 35.71
Literature review 1 0 1
100.00 0.00 100.00
8.33 0.00 7.14
Personal reflection 6 2 8
75.00 25.00 100.00
50.00 100.00 57.14
Total 12 2 14
85.71 14.29 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 14
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

Table 3.17 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 4 0 4
new teaching approach in
Teaching Sociology 100.00 0.00 100.00
10.81 0.00 4.08
Descriptive 8 29 37
21.62 78.38 100.00
21.62 47.54 37.76
Mixed methods 5 6 11
45.45 54.55 100.00
13.51 9.84 11.22
Personal reflection 4 13 17
23.53 76.47 100.00
10.81 21.31 17.35
Qualitative 9 9 18
50.00 50.00 100.00
24.32 14.75 18.37
Quantitative 7 4 11
63.64 36.36 100.00
18.92 6.56 11.22
Total 37 61 98
37.76 62.24 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 98
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages
104 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.18 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 14 0 14
author-implemented practice,
full sample 100.00 0.00 100.00
8.43 0.00 3.29
Descriptive 84 185 269
31.23 68.77 100.00
50.60 71.43 63.29
Literature review 8 3 11
72.73 27.27 100.00
4.82 1.16 2.59
Mixed methods 8 11 19
42.11 57.89 100.00
4.82 4.25 4.47
Personal reflection 13 23 36
36.11 63.89 100.00
7.83 8.88 8.47
Qualitative 17 14 31
54.84 45.16 100.00
10.24 5.41 7.29
Quantitative 22 23 45
48.89 51.11 100.00
13.25 8.88 10.59
Total 166 259 425
39.06 60.94 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 425
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

Education, personal reflection provides the foundation for 5 of these 6 articles that report
an author-implemented practice. Table 3.21 provides support for these assertions.
Table 3.22 shows that the vast majority (70.41%) of the coded articles of
Teaching Sociology report an author-implemented practice. Moreover, research
scholarship (descriptive, quantitative investigations and qualitative investigations)
offers the foundation for more than two-thirds (68.12%) of these articles. However,
about twenty percent (20.29%) of these articles spring from personal reflection.

3.2.5.3 Alterations Made to a Teaching Approach

In strong contrast to the other two focal teaching initiatives, articles reporting
alterations made to a teaching approach stand decidedly as a small minority of the
425 coded articles. Specifically, 31 or 7.29% of the 425 coded articles report alterations
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 105

Table 3.19 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
Descriptive 2 4 6
author-implemented practice
in Bioscene 33.33 66.67 100.00
33.33 33.33 33.33
Mixed methods 1 3 4
25.00 75.00 100.00
16.67 25.00 22.22
Personal reflection 1 1 2
50.00 50.00 100.00
16.67 8.33 11.11
Quantitative 2 4 6
33.33 66.67 100.00
33.33 33.33 33.33
Total 6 12 18
33.33 66.67 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 18
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

made to a teaching approach. However, a sizeable fraction (61.29%) of these articles rest
on a foundation of research scholarship (descriptive, quantitative investigations and
qualitative investigations). Table 3.23 provides support for these assertions.
Only three of the 18 coded articles of Bioscene report alterations made to a
teaching approach. Moreover, research scholarship (descriptive research) underlies
two of these three articles. Table 3.24 corroborates these statements.
Articles that report alterations made to a teaching approach also make up a small
proportion (19 of 295) of the coded articles of The Journal of Chemical Education.
Moreover, research scholarship (descriptive, quantitative investigations and qualita-
tive investigations) provides the underpinning for 15 of these 19 articles. See
Table 3.25 for supporting data.
Personal reflection underlies the only article that reports alterations made to a
teaching approach of the 14 coded articles of Teaching History. Table 3.26 supports
that observation.
Like the other three SOTL journals, a small fraction (N¼8, 8.16%) of the
98 articles coded for Teaching Sociology report alterations made to a teaching
approach. Of these eight articles, personal reflection offers the basis for four of
them. Table 3.27 supports these assertions.
106 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.20 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 5 0 5
author-implemented practice
in Journal of Chemical 100.00 0.00 100.00
Education 4.07 0.00 1.69
Descriptive 77 149 226
34.07 65.93 100.00
62.60 86.63 76.61
Literature review 8 2 10
80.00 20.00 100.00
6.50 1.16 3.39
Mixed methods 4 0 4
100.00 0.00 100.00
3.25 0.00 1.36
Personal reflection 6 3 9
66.67 33.33 100.00
4.88 1.74 3.05
Qualitative 9 4 13
69.23 30.77 100.00
7.32 2.33 4.41
Quantitative 14 14 28
50.00 50.00 100.00
11.38 8.14 9.49
Total 123 172 295
41.69 58.31 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 295
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

3.2.6 Limitations of the Inventory

We note four limitations to this Inventory. These limitations moderate the conclusions
and recommendations for further research we advance. These limitations are as follows.
The first limitation pertains to the selection of four teaching-focused journals
representing the academic disciplines of biology, chemistry, history and sociology.
According to Biglan’s (1973) classification schema of academic subject matter areas,
these four disciplines do include both soft or low consensus disciplines (history and
sociology) and hard or high consensus disciplines (biology and chemistry); however,
all four of these disciplines do hold a pure rather than applied orientation. Thus, the
Inventory we present in this chapter pertains only to articles published in Bioscene,
The Journal of Chemical Education, Teaching History and Teaching Sociology.
The second limitation concerns the time-period we used to classify the articles of
the four teaching-focused journals. We confined our review to a span of 5 years
between 2012 and 2016. Consequently, the Inventory we present pertains only to the
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 107

Table 3.21 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 5 0 5
author-implemented practice
in Teaching History 100.00 0.00 100.00
62.50 0.00 35.71
Literature review 0 1 1
0.00 100.00 100.00
0.00 16.67 7.14
Personal reflection 3 5 8
37.50 62.50 100.00
37.50 83.33 57.14
Total 8 6 14
57.14 42.86 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 14
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

Table 3.22 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 4 0 4
author-implemented practice
in Teaching Sociology 100.00 0.00 100.00
13.79 0.00 4.08
Descriptive 5 32 37
13.51 86.49 100.00
17.24 46.38 37.76
Mixed methods 3 8 11
27.27 72.73 100.00
10.34 11.59 11.22
Personal reflection 3 14 17
17.65 82.35 100.00
10.34 20.29 17.35
Qualitative 8 10 18
44.44 55.56 100.00
27.59 14.49 18.37
Quantitative 6 5 11
54.55 45.45 100.00
20.69 7.25 11.22
Total 29 69 98
29.59 70.41 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 98
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages
108 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.23 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 14 0 14
alteration made to a teaching
approach, full sample 100.00 0.00 100.00
3.55 0.00 3.29
Descriptive 257 12 269
95.54 4.46 100.00
65.23 38.71 63.29
Literature review 10 1 11
90.91 9.09 100.00
2.54 3.23 2.59
Mixed methods 15 4 19
78.95 21.05 100.00
3.81 12.90 4.47
Personal reflection 29 7 36
80.56 19.44 100.00
7.36 22.58 8.47
Qualitative 27 4 31
87.10 12.90 100.00
6.85 12.90 7.29
Quantitative 42 3 45
93.33 6.67 100.00
10.66 9.68 10.59
Total 394 31 425
92.71 7.29 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 425
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

5-year period between 2012 and 2016. We also coded only articles focused on
undergraduate instruction in higher education. This restriction forms the third
limitation to this Inventory.
Our fourth limitation involves the moderate degree of agreement among the three
coding authors for the type of article we obtained. However, one of the three coding
authors coded 92 percent of the articles. For the other eight percent of the articles
coded, the type of article designated might vary depending on the coder. Neverthe-
less, we regard this particular limitation as largely blunted given that one individual
coded 92 percent of the articles.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 109

Table 3.24 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
Descriptive 4 2 6
alteration made to a teaching
approach in Bioscene 66.67 33.33 100.00
26.67 66.67 33.33
Mixed methods 3 1 4
75.00 25.00 100.00
20.00 33.33 22.22
Personal reflection 2 0 2
100.00 0.00 100.00
13.33 0.00 11.11
Quantitative 6 0 6
100.00 0.00 100.00
40.00 0.00 33.33
Total 15 3 18
83.33 16.67 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 18
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

3.3 Conclusions

We derived six conclusions from the configuration of findings reported in this

chapter. Taken together, these six conclusions provide the defining contours of an
Inventory of the scholarship of teaching and learning literature bounded by the four
teaching-focused journals we selected and the 5-year time period for review of the
articles in these four journals.
1. Weimer (2006) delineated four different approaches to the scholarship of teach-
ing and learning: personal accounts of change, recommended-practices reports,
recommended-content reports, and personal narratives. In our classification
schema, we labeled these approaches as types of articles. Of these four types of
articles, recommended-practices reports and recommended-content reports pre-
dominate as the most frequently occurring types of article. Taken together, these
two types of articles account for 93% of the articles appearing in the four SOTL
journals combined. However, recommended-practice reports occur much more
frequently (64% of articles coded) than recommended-content reports (29%). In
contrast, personal narratives and personal accounts of change rarely find their way
into print in these four SOTL journals at an aggregated level. This pattern leads us
to conclude that articles focused on instructional methods (recommended prac-
tice reports) dominate the pedagogical scholarship literature. Articles focused
on instructional methods contribute to the development and refinement of peda-
gogical practice, the goal of the scholarship of teaching (Braxton et al., 2002).
110 J. M. Braxton et al.

Table 3.25 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 5 0 5
alteration made to a teaching
approach in Journal of 100.00 0.00 100.00
Chemical Education 1.81 0.00 1.69
Descriptive 216 10 226
95.58 4.42 100.00
78.26 52.63 76.61
Literature review 9 1 10
90.00 10.00 100.00
3.26 5.26 3.39
Mixed methods 3 1 4
75.00 25.00 100.00
1.09 5.26 1.36
Personal reflection 7 2 9
77.78 22.22 100.00
2.54 10.53 3.05
Qualitative 11 2 13
84.62 15.38 100.00
3.99 10.53 4.41
Quantitative 25 3 28
89.29 10.71 100.00
9.06 15.79 9.49
Total 276 19 295
93.56 6.44 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 295
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

Table 3.26 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 5 0 5
alteration made to a teaching
approach in Teaching History 100.00 0.00 100.00
38.46 0.00 35.71
Literature review 1 0 1
100.00 0.00 100.00
7.69 0.00 7.14
Personal reflection 7 1 8
87.50 12.50 100.00
53.85 100.00 57.14
Total 13 1 14
92.86 7.14 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 14
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 111

Table 3.27 Crosstab for type No Yes Total

of analysis and subcategory
None of the above categories 4 0 4
alterations made to a teaching
approach in Teaching 100.00 0.00 100.00
Sociology 4.44 0.00 4.08
Descriptive 37 0 37
100.00 0.00 100.00
41.11 0.00 37.76
Mixed methods 9 2 11
81.82 18.18 100.00
10.00 25.00 11.22
Personal reflection 13 4 17
76.47 23.53 100.00
14.44 50.00 17.35
Qualitative 16 2 18
88.89 11.11 100.00
17.78 25.00 18.37
Quantitative 11 0 11
100.00 0.00 100.00
12.22 0.00 11.22
Total 90 8 98
91.84 8.16 100.00
100.00 100.00 100.00
Observations 98
Row percentages listed under raw counts; column percentages
listed under row percentages

2. Our findings indicate that research scholarship (descriptive research analyses,

quantitative investigations, and qualitative investigations) prevails as the most
frequent type of analysis used in articles that comprise the scholarship of teaching
and learning literature whereas personal reflection infrequently occurs except in
the SOTL journal of Teaching History. Thus, we conclude that the pedagogical
scholarship literature springs mostly from research using “established research
protocols” (Weimer, 2006, p. 43) rather than from the personal experiences of
practitioners.
3. This particular conclusion consists of three interrelated conclusions. We
previously reported that the overwhelming majority (87.10%) of recommended-
practice reports make use of research scholarship and that less than ten percent
(7.01%) of recommended-practice reports spring from personal reflections. This
pattern of findings leads us to conclude that the articles focused on instructional
methods (recommended-practice reports) that dominate the pedagogical
scholarship primarily rest on a bed of empirical research (research scholarship).
We also reported that research scholarship (descriptive research, quantitative
and qualitative investigations combined) provides the basis for the vast majority
(77.42%) of recommended content reports whereas personal reflection infre-
quently (8.06%) underlies recommended content reports. Hence, we conclude
112 J. M. Braxton et al.

that articles recommending content for a particular course or academic disci-

pline also rest on a foundation of empirical research (research scholarship).
This pattern of findings gives rise to the third conclusion of this cluster of
conclusions. We conclude that Weimer’s (2006) contention that recommended-
practice reports and recommended-content reports constitute types of wisdom of
practice scholarship (see e.g., p. 40) requires serious revision, as they do not flow
from the wisdom of practice. They should remain as types of articles but not
conflated with type of analysis.
4. Our configuration of findings indicates that research scholarship provides the
primary foundation for recommended practice reports published in Bioscene, in
the Journal of Chemical Education and in Teaching Sociology. In contrast,
personal reflection predominates as the type of analysis underpinning
recommended practice reports in Teaching History. Consequently, we conclude
that articles centered on instructional methods that rest on a foundation of
research scholarship predominate in teaching-focused journals of two high and
one low consensus academic discipline with the discipline of history as an
exception. The established disciplinary research protocols hold force in the
disciplines of biology, chemistry, and sociology, but not in history, as we gather
from the prevalence of personal reflections in Teaching History.
5. As stated elsewhere in this chapter, Boyer (1990) ascribed the scholarship of
teaching as the domain of scholarship best aligned with the teaching-oriented
mission of liberal arts colleges (baccalaureate colleges and universities). He also
regarded the scholarship of teaching as appropriate for comprehensive colleges
and universities (master’s colleges and universities). Our pattern of findings
indicates that first authors at doctoral universities of highest, high and moderate
levels of research activity combined produce 45% of the recommended practice
reports. Nevertheless, first authors at primarily master’s granting universities
publish almost 20% (19.56%) of recommended practice piece. However, authors
at primarily bachelor’s granting institutions publish less than 10% of
recommended practice reports (9.23%). Although first authors at primarily bach-
elor’s granting institutions and master’s granting universities follow to some
degree Boyer’s prescription for domain emphasis, first authors at doctoral uni-
versities deliver the bulk of recommended practice reports.
Moreover, our configuration of findings indicates that first authors at the three
subcategories of doctoral universities combine more than a third (35.48%) of
recommended-content articles. As in the case of recommended-practice reports,
first authors at primarily master’s granting universities also generate about 20%
(20.16%) of recommended-content reports. Moreover, first authors at primarily
bachelor’s granting institutions published more than ten percent of these articles
(12.90%). Though first authors at primarily bachelor’s granting institutions and
master’s granting universities follow to some degree Boyer’s prescription for
domain emphasis, first authors at doctoral universities produce a greater propor-
tion of recommended-content reports.
Despite Boyer’s prescriptions for institutional emphasis placed on the schol-
arship of teaching for primarily bachelor’s granting institutions and master’s
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 113

granting universities, we conclude that first authors affiliated with doctoral

universities generate a larger share of both recommended-practice and
recommended-content reports than first authors in primarily bachelor’s granting
institutions and master’s granting universities. This conclusion resonates with
the observation of Braxton et al. (2002) that faculty in doctoral granting univer-
sities tend to produce more scholarship than their counterparts in primarily
bachelor’s granting institutions and master’s granting universities
6. Given that both recommended-practice reports and recommended-content reports
spring from research scholarship, we conclude that a knowledge base of peda-
gogical scholarship might exist within the context of the four teaching-focused
journals used herein. However, the realization of this possibility depends on
engagement in the scholarship of integration by scholars of the academic profes-
sion in general and of the scholarship of teaching and learning in particular. In
addition to a review of the content of articles that recommend instructional
methods and content for a course or an academic discipline, articles describing
new teaching approaches, author-implemented practices, and alterations to a
teaching approach provide additional possibilities for engagement in a scholar-
ship of integration focused on the content of these articles. The outcomes of such
a review might also contribute to a knowledge base of pedagogical scholarship.
Aside from these six specific conclusions, we put forth an overarching conclu-
sion. This overarching conclusion concerns the usefulness of the classification of
both the types of articles and types of analyses that we used in this Inventory. In
terms of types of articles, this classification schema accounted for 413 of the
425 coded articles. As indicated by Table 3.2, only three percent (N ¼ 12) of the
coded articles were classified as not fitting any of the four types of articles delineated
by the classification schema we used. A similar pattern exists for type of analysis as
we failed to classify 14 of the 425 coded articles into one of the six types of analyses
of our classification schema. Table 3.4 supports this assertion. These specifics afford
robust support for the usefulness of our classification schema. This classification
system takes the form of an extension of Weimer’s classification schema she
described in her 2006 volume Enhancing Scholarly Work on Teaching and Learn-
ing: Professional Literature that Makes a Difference. We offer our classification
system as a heuristic for future research on the literature of the scholarship of
teaching and learning or of pedagogical scholarship.

3.3.1 Recommendations for Further Research

and Scholarship

We offer four recommendations for future research. Our first three recommendations
acknowledge the heuristic value of the classification system used in this Inventory
whereas the fourth recommendation centers attention on our call for engagement in
the scholarship of integration centered on articles that report a new teaching
114 J. M. Braxton et al.

approach, report an author-implemented practice or content, and report on alterations

made to a teaching approach.
1. As previously stated, the four teaching-focused journals we selected circumscribe
the defining demarcations of the Inventory of the scholarship of teaching and
learning literature we offer. Accordingly, we recommend that future efforts to
extend the classification approach we used should center attention on teaching-
focused journals of applied academic disciplines. Biglan (1973) lists engineering,
accounting, and finance as examples of applied academic disciplines. Some
possible teaching-focused journals for such applied disciplines include Issues in
Accounting Education, the Journal of Accounting Education, The Journal of
Financial Education, and the Journal of Engineering Education.
2. In our fourth conclusion, we posited that history stands as an exception to our
conclusion that articles centered on instructional methods predominantly rest on a
foundation of research scholarship in the teaching-focused journals of biology,
chemistry and sociology. We surmised that personal reflections might prevail in
Teaching History because the established research protocols of biology, chemis-
try and sociology do not hold force in the discipline of history. Accordingly, we
recommend that future research using the classification schema used in this
Inventory include the teaching-focused journals of academic disciplines such as
English, foreign languages and philosophy. Possible journals include College
English, Research in the Teaching of English, Language Learning Journal, and
Teaching Philosophy. The frequency of personal accounts of change and personal
narratives might increase through engagement in this recommendation for further
research.
3. Our first two recommendations pertain to teaching-focused journals of academic
disciplines. However, there are also a number of teaching-focused journals that
do not focus on any particular discipline. These journals include Active Learning
in Higher Education, College Teaching, Diversity Digest, Innovate—Journal of
Online Education and the Journal on Excellence in College Teaching. We
recommend that future research apply the classification schema used in this
Inventory to these journals.
4. We provide three Appendices to this chapter. These appendices list bibliographic
information for articles in Bioscene, the Journal of Chemical Education, and
Teaching Sociology. We selected these listed articles because they provide
reports on a new teaching approach (Appendix A), report an author-implemented
practice or content (Appendix B), or report on alterations made to a teaching
approach (Appendix C). Research scholarship also underlies these reports. We
provide these Appendices to enable scholars of the academic profession in
general, and scholars of the scholarship of teaching and learning in particular,
to engage in a scholarship of integration centered on the content of these articles.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 115

3.3.2 Closing Thoughts

Instructional methods and content for a particular course or academic discipline

define the central focus of the body of pedagogical scholarship that emerges from
articles published in the teaching-focused journals of Bioscience: Journal of College
Biology Teaching, The Journal of Chemical Education, Teaching History and
Teaching Sociology. With the exception of Teaching History, research scholarship
underpins the articles of this body of pedagogical scholarship. Other bodies of
pedagogical scholarship may exist with different defining characteristics of article
type and type of analysis. These possible bodies of scholarship might emanate from
the teaching-focused journals of academic disciplines such as English, foreign
languages and philosophy, as well as from the teaching-focused journals of applied
academic disciplines such as engineering, accounting, and finance. Further research
by scholars of the academic profession in general and the scholars of teaching and
learning in particular should focus on the nature of pedagogical scholarship in
additional clusters of academic fields such as these.

Appendices

Appendix A

Article includes new teaching approach

Bioscene
• Kudish, P., Schlag, E., & Kaplinsky, N. J. (2015). An Inquiry-Infused Introduc-
tory Biology Laboratory That Integrates Mendel’s Pea Phenotypes with Molec-
ular Mechanisms. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 41(1), 10–15.
• MacLaren, R. D., Schulte, D., & Kennedy, J. (2012). Field Research Studying
Whales in an Undergraduate Animal Behavior Laboratory. Bioscene: Journal of
College Biology Teaching, 38(1), 3–10.
• McCabe, D. J., & Knight, E. J. (2016). Null Models for Everyone: A Two-Step
Approach to Teaching Null Model Analysis of Biological Community Structure.
Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 42(2), 16–25.

Journal of Chemical Education

• Aller Pellitero, M., Álvarez Lamsfus, C., & Borge, J. (2012). The Belousov–
Zhabotinskii Reaction: Improving the Oregonator Model with the Arrhenius
Equation. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(1), 82–89.
• Barbera, J. (2013). A psychometric analysis of the chemical concepts inventory.
Journal of Chemical Education, 90(5), 546–553.
116 J. M. Braxton et al.

• Galloway, K. R., & Bretz, S. L. (2015). Development of an assessment tool to

measure students’ meaningful learning in the undergraduate chemistry labora-
tory. Journal of Chemical Education, 92(7), 1149–1158.
• Grasse, E. K., Torcasio, M. H., & Smith, A. W. (2015). Teaching UV–Vis
Spectroscopy with a 3D-Printable Smartphone Spectrophotometer. Journal of
Chemical Education, 93(1), 146–151.
• Harper-Leatherman, A. S., & Miecznikowski, J. R. (2012). O true apothecary:
How forensic science helps solve a classic crime. Journal of Chemical Education,
89(5), 629–635.
• He, Y., Swenson, S., & Lents, N. (2012). Online video tutorials increase learning
of difficult concepts in an undergraduate analytical chemistry course. Journal of
Chemical Education, 89(9), 1128–1132.
• Keeler, J. M., & Koretsky, M. D. (2016). Surprises in the Muddy Waters of High-
Enrollment Courses. Journal of Chemical Education, 93(11), 1830–1838.
• Kirton, S. B., Al-Ahmad, A., & Fergus, S. (2014). Using Structured Chemistry
Examinations (SChemEs) As an Assessment Method To Improve Undergraduate
Students’ Generic, Practical, and Laboratory-Based Skills. Journal of Chemical
Education, 91(5), 648–654.
• Kolk, K. V. D., Beldman, G., Hartog, R., & Gruppen, H. (2011). Students using a
novel web-based laboratory class support system: a case study in food chemistry
education. Journal of Chemical Education, 89(1), 103–108.
• Laredo, T. (2013). Changing the first-year chemistry laboratory manual to imple-
ment a problem-based approach that improves student engagement. Journal of
Chemical Education, 90(9), 1151–1154.
• Libman, D., & Huang, L. (2013). Chemistry on the go: review of chemistry apps
on smartphones. Journal of chemical education, 90(3), 320–325.
• Mottishaw, J. D., Erck, A. R., Kramer, J. H., Sun, H., & Koppang, M. (2015).
Electrostatic Potential Maps and Natural Bond Orbital Analysis: Visualization
and Conceptualization of Reactivity in Sanger’s Reagent. Journal of Chemical
Education, 92(11), 1846–1852.
• Pence, H. E., & Williams, A. J. (2016). Big data and chemical education. Journal
of Chemical Education, 93(3), 504–508.
• Saloranta, T., Lönnqvist, J. E., & Eklund, P. C. (2016). Transforming Under-
graduate Students into Junior Researchers: Oxidation–Reduction Sequence as a
Problem-Based Case Study. Journal of Chemical Education, 93(5), 841–846.
• Schlotter, N. E. (2012). A statistics curriculum for the undergraduate chemistry
major. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(1), 51–55.
• Sostarecz, M. C., & Sostarecz, A. G. (2012). A conceptual approach to limiting-
reagent problems. Journal of Chemical Education, 89(9), 1148–1151.
• Tomasik, J. H., LeCaptain, D., Murphy, S., Martin, M., Knight, R. M., Harke,
M. A., . . . & Acevedo-Polakovich, I. D. (2014). Island explorations: discovering
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 117

effects of environmental research-based lab activities on analytical chemistry

students. Journal of Chemical Education, 91(11), 1887–1894.
• Vanderveen, J. R., Martin, B., & Ooms, K. J. (2013). Developing tools for
undergraduate spectroscopy: an inexpensive visible light spectrometer. Journal
of Chemical Education, 90(7), 894–899.
• Ye, L., Oueini, R., & Lewis, S. E. (2015). Developing and implementing an
assessment technique to measure linked concepts. Journal of Chemical Educa-
tion, 92(11), 1807–1812.
• Zurcher, D. M., Phadke, S., Coppola, B. P., & McNeil, A. J. (2016). Using
Student-Generated Instructional Materials in an e-Homework Platform. Journal
of Chemical Education, 93(11), 1871–1878.

Teaching Sociology
• Arabandi, B., Sweet, S., & Swords, A. (2014). Testing the Flat World Thesis:
Using a Public Dataset to Engage Students in the Global Inequality Debate.
Teaching Sociology, 42(4), 267–276.
• Becker, S., & Paul, C. (2015). “It Didn’t Seem Like Race Mattered”: Exploring
the Implications of Service-learning Pedagogy for Reproducing or Challenging
Color-Blind Racism. Teaching Sociology, 43(3), 184–200.
• Crowe, J. A., Silva, T., & Ceresola, R. (2015). The Effect of Peer Review on
Student Learning Outcomes in a Research Methods Course. Teaching Sociology,
43(3), 201–213.
• Grauerholz, L., & Bubriski-McKenzie, A. (2012). Teaching about Consumption
The “Not Buying It” Project. Teaching Sociology, 40(4), 332–348.
• Hochschild Jr, T. R., Farley, M., & Chee, V. (2014). Incorporating sociology into
community service classes. Teaching Sociology, 42(2), 105–118.
• Huggins, C. M., & Stamatel, J. P. (2015). An Exploratory Study Comparing the
Effectiveness of Lecturing versus Team-based Learning. Teaching Sociology, 43
(3), 227–235.
• Irby-Shasanmi, A., Oberlin, K. C., & Saunders, T. N. (2012). Teaching with
Movement: Using the Health Privilege Activity to Physically Demonstrate Dis-
parities in Society. Teaching Sociology, 40(2), 123–141.
• Khanna, N., & Harris, C. A. (2015). Discovering Race in a “Post-Racial” World:
Teaching Race through Primetime Television. Teaching Sociology, 43(1), 39–45.
• Latshaw, B. A. (2015). Examining the Impact of a Domestic Violence Simulation
on the Development of Empathy in Sociology Classes. Teaching Sociology, 43
(4), 277–289.
• McCabe, J. (2013). Making Theory Relevant: The Gender Attitude and Belief
Inventory. Teaching Sociology, 41(3), 282–293.
118 J. M. Braxton et al.

• Nell Trautner, M., & Borland, E. (2013). Using the Sociological Imagination to
Teach about Academic Integrity. Teaching Sociology, 41(4), 377–388.
• Norris, D. R. (2013). Beat the Bourgeoisie: A Social Class Inequality and
Mobility Simulation Game. Teaching Sociology, 41(4), 334–345.
• Noy, S. (2014). Secrets and the Sociological Imagination: Using PostSecret. com
to Illustrate Sociological Concepts. Teaching Sociology, 42(3), 187–195.
• Osnowitz, D., & Jenkins, K. E. (2014). The Theory Forum: Teaching Social
Theory through Interactive Practice. Teaching Sociology, 42(3), 245–250.
• Parrotta, K. L., & Buck, A. R. (2013). Making Marx Accessible: Understanding
Alienated Labor through Experiential Learning. Teaching Sociology, 41(4),
360–369.
• Pelton, J. A. (2013). “Seeing the Theory Is Believing” Writing about Film to
Reduce Theory Anxiety. Teaching Sociology, 41(1), 106–120.
• Strangefeld, J. A. (2013). Promoting Active Learning: Student-Led Data Gather-
ing in Undergraduate Statistics. Teaching sociology, 41(2), 199–206.
• Upright, C. (2015). Bringing Color into the Living Room: Analyzing “TV Guide”
Covers, 1953 to 1997. Teaching Sociology, 43(3), 214–226.
• Whitley, C. T. (2013). A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words: Applying Image-
Based Learning to Course Design. Teaching Sociology, 41(2), 188–198.
• Wright, E. (2012). Why, Where, and How to Infuse the Atlanta Sociological
Laboratory into the Sociology Curriculum. Teaching Sociology, 40(3), 257–270.

Appendix B

Article includes author-implemented practice

Bioscene
• Basey, J. M., Maines, A. P., Francis, C. D., & Melbourne, B. (2014). Impacts of
digital imaging versus drawing on student learning in undergraduate biodiversity
labs. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 40(2), 15–21.
• Berkes, C., & Chan, L. L. Y. (2015). Investigation of Macrophage Differentiation
and Cytokine Production in an Undergraduate Immunology Laboratory.
Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 41(2), 3–10.
• Gillie, L., & Bizub, A. L. (2012). In Darwin’s Footsteps: An On and Off-Campus
Approach to Teaching Evolutionary Theory and Animal Behavior. Bioscene:
Journal of College Biology Teaching, 38(1), 15–21.
• Infanti, L. M., & Wiles, J. R. (2014). “Evo in the News:” Understanding
Evolution and Students’ Attitudes toward the Relevance of Evolutionary Biol-
ogy. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 40(2), 9–14.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 119

• Janssens, P., & Waldhuber, M. (2012). Experimental Analysis of Cell Function

Using Cytoplasmic Streaming. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching,
38(1), 11–14.
• Kudish, P., Schlag, E., & Kaplinsky, N. J. (2015). An Inquiry-Infused Introduc-
tory Biology Laboratory That Integrates Mendel’s Pea Phenotypes with Molec-
ular Mechanisms. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 41(1), 10–15.
• Lappas, C. M. (2012). The effect of CGS21680 Treatment on Thioglycollate-
Induced Peritonitis: An Introduction to Immunopharmacology. Bioscene: Jour-
nal of College Biology Teaching, 38(2) 3–9.
• MacLaren, R. D., Schulte, D., & Kennedy, J. (2012). Field Research Studying
Whales in an Undergraduate Animal Behavior Laboratory. Bioscene: Journal of
College Biology Teaching, 38(1), 3–10.
• Soto, J. G., & Everhart, J. (2016). Transformation of a Traditional, Freshman
Biology, Three-Semester Sequence, to a Two-Semester, Integrated Thematically
Organized, and Team-Taught Course. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology
Teaching, 42(2), 3–15.
• Smith, M. J., Shaffer, J. J., Koupal, K. D., & Hoback, W. W. (2012). Laboratory
Measures of Filtration by Freshwater Mussels: An Activity to Introduce Biology
Students to an Increasingly Threatened Group of Organisms. Bioscene: Journal
of College Biology Teaching, 38(2), 10–15.
• Stanford, J. S., & Duwel, L. E. (2013). Engaging Biology Undergraduates in the
Scientific Process through Writing a Theoretical Research Proposal. Bioscene:
Journal of College Biology Teaching, 39(2), 17–24.

Journal of Chemical Education

• Andraos, J., & Hent, A. (2015). Useful material efficiency green metrics problem
set exercises for lecture and laboratory. Journal of Chemical Education, 92(11),
1831–1839.
• Bauer, C. F., & Cole, R. (2012). Validation of an assessment rubric via controlled
modification of a classroom activity. Journal of Chemical Education, 89(9),
1104–1108.
• Benedict, L. A., Champlin, D. T., & Pence, H. E. (2013). Exploring transmedia:
the rip-mix-learn classroom. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(9), 1172–1176.
• Carmel, J. H., Jessa, Y., & Yezierski, E. J. (2014). Targeting the development of
content knowledge and scientific reasoning: Reforming college-level chemistry
for nonscience majors. Journal of Chemical Education, 92(1), 46–51.
• Cruzeiro, V. W. D., Roitberg, A., & Polfer, N. C. (2016). Interactively Applying
the Variational Method to the Dihydrogen Molecule: Exploring Bonding and
Antibonding. Journal of Chemical Education, 93(9), 1578–1585.
• Finch, L. E., Hillyer, M. M., & Leopold, M. C. (2015). Quantitative analysis of
heavy metals in children’s toys and jewelry: a multi-instrument, multitechnique
120 J. M. Braxton et al.

exercise in analytical chemistry and public health. Journal of Chemical Educa-

tion, 92(5), 849–854.
• Glover, S. R., Sewry, J. D., Bromley, C. L., Davies-Coleman, M. T., & Hlengwa,
A. (2013). The Implementation of a Service-Learning Component in an Organic
Chemistry Laboratory Course. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(5), 578–583.
• Halstead, J. A. (2012). Teaching the Spin Selection Rule: An Inductive
Approach. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(1), 70–75.
• Hibbard, L., Sung, S., & Wells, B. (2015). Examining the effectiveness of a semi-
self-paced flipped learning format in a college general chemistry sequence.
Journal of Chemical Education, 93(1), 24–30.
• Hoyer, C. E., & Kegerreis, J. S. (2013). A Primer in Monte Carlo Integration
Using Mathcad. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(9), 1186–1190.
• Jacobs, D. L., Dalal, H. A., & Dawson, P. H. (2015). Integrating Chemical
Information Instruction into the Chemistry Curriculum on Borrowed Time: The
Multiyear Development and Evolution of a Virtual Instructional Tutorial. Journal
of Chemical Education, 93(3), 452–463.
• McCollum, B. M., Regier, L., Leong, J., Simpson, S., & Sterner, S. (2014). The
effects of using touch-screen devices on students’ molecular visualization and
representational competence skills. Journal of Chemical Education, 91(11),
1810–1817.
• Morizot, O., Audureau, E., Briend, J. Y., Hagel, G., & Boulc’h, F. (2014).
Introducing the Human Element in Chemistry by Synthesizing Blue Pigments
and Creating Cyanotypes in a First-Year Chemistry Course. Journal of Chemical
Education, 92(1), 74–78.
• Phipps, L. R. (2013). Creating and teaching a web-based, university-level intro-
ductory chemistry course that incorporates laboratory exercises and active learn-
ing pedagogies. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(5), 568–573.
• Priest, S. J., Pyke, S. M., & Williamson, N. M. (2014). Student perceptions of
chemistry experiments with different technological interfaces: a comparative
study. Journal of Chemical Education, 91(11), 1787–1795.
• Rodrigues, R. P., Andrade, S. F., Mantoani, S. P., Eifler-Lima, V. L., Silva, V. B.,
& Kawano, D. F. (2015). Using Free Computational Resources To Illustrate the
Drug Design Process in an Undergraduate Medicinal Chemistry Course. Journal
of Chemical Education, 92(5), 827–835.
• Schiltz, H. K., & Oliver-Hoyo, M. T. (2012). Physical Models That Provide
Guidance in Visualization Deconstruction in an Inorganic Context. Journal of
Chemical Education, 89(7), 873–877.
• Thomas, A. C., Boucher, M. A., & Pulliam, C. R. (2015). Qualitative to quanti-
tative and spectrum to report: an instrument-focused research methods course for
first-year students. Journal of Chemical Education, 92(3), 439–443.
• Tomasik, J. H., Cottone, K. E., Heethuis, M. T., & Mueller, A. (2013). Devel-
opment and preliminary impacts of the implementation of an authentic research-
Based experiment in General Chemistry. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(9),
1155–1161.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 121

• Yeagley, A. A., Porter, S. E., Rhoten, M. C., & Topham, B. J. (2015). The
stepping stone approach to teaching chemical information skills. Journal of
Chemical Education, 93(3), 423–428.

Teaching Sociology
• Becker, S., & Paul, C. (2015). “It Didn’t Seem Like Race Mattered”: Exploring
the Implications of Service-learning Pedagogy for Reproducing or Challenging
Color-Blind Racism. Teaching Sociology, 43(3), 184–200.
• Bramesfeld, K. D., & Good, A. (2015). The Game of Social Life: An Assessment
of a Multidimensional Poverty Simulation. Teaching Sociology, 43(2), 92–103.
• Chin, L. G., & Gibbs Stayte, P. (2015). Can Human Subject Pool Participation
Benefit Sociology Students?. Teaching Sociology, 43(1), 27–38.
• Crowe, J. A., Silva, T., & Ceresola, R. (2015). The Effect of Peer Review on
Student Learning Outcomes in a Research Methods Course. Teaching Sociology,
43(3), 201–213.
• Delucchi, M. (2014). Measuring student learning in social statistics: A pretest-
posttest study of knowledge gain. Teaching Sociology, 42(3), 231–239.
• Ghoshal, R. A., Lippard, C., Ribas, V., & Muir, K. (2013). Beyond Bigotry:
Teaching about Unconscious Prejudice. Teaching Sociology, 41(2), 130–143.
• Grauerholz, L., & Settembrino, M. (2016). Teaching Inequalities: Using Public
Transportation and Visual Sociology to Make It Real. Teaching Sociology, 44(3),
200–211.
• Howard, J. R., Novak, K. B., Cline, K., & Scott, M. B. (2014). Another Nibble at
the Core: Student Learning in a Thematically-Focused Introductory Sociology
Course. Teaching Sociology, 42(3), 177–186.
• Huggins, C. M., & Stamatel, J. P. (2015). An Exploratory Study Comparing the
Effectiveness of Lecturing versus Team-Based Learning. Teaching Sociology, 43
(3), 227–235.
• Jafar, A. (2016). Student Engagement, Accountability, and Empowerment: A
Case Study of Collaborative Course Design. Teaching Sociology, 44(3),
221–232.
• Khanna, N., & Harris, C. A. (2015). Discovering Race in a “Post-Racial” World:
Teaching Race through Primetime Television. Teaching Sociology, 43(1), 39–45.
• Messinger, A. M. (2012). Teaching content analysis through Harry Potter.
Teaching Sociology, 40(4), 360–367.
• Mueller, J. C. (2013). Tracing Family, Teaching Race: Critical Race Pedagogy in
the Millennial Sociology Classroom. Teaching Sociology, 41(2), 172–187.
• Olsen, L. D. (2016). “It’s on the MCAT for a Reason” Premedical Students and
the Perceived Utility of Sociology. Teaching Sociology, 44(2), 72–83.
• Parrotta, K. L., & Buck, A. R. (2013). Making Marx Accessible: Understanding
Alienated Labor through Experiential Learning. Teaching Sociology, 41(4),
360–369.
122 J. M. Braxton et al.

• Picca, L. H., Starks, B., & Gunderson, J. (2013). “It Opened My Eyes” Using
Student Journal Writing to Make Visible Race, Class, and Gender in Everyday
Life. Teaching Sociology, 41(1), 82–93.
• Rondini, A. C. (2015). Observations of Critical Consciousness Development in
the Context of Service Learning. Teaching Sociology, 43(2), 137–145.
• Strangefeld, J. A. (2013). Promoting Active Learning: Student-Led Data Gather-
ing in Undergraduate Statistics. Teaching sociology, 41(2), 199–206.
• Upright, C. (2015). Bringing Color into the Living Room: Analyzing “TV Guide”
Covers, 1953 to 1997. Teaching Sociology, 43(3), 214–226.
• Windsor, E. J., & Carroll, A. M. (2015). The Bourgeoisie Dream Factory:
Teaching Marx’s Theory of Alienation through an Experiential Activity. Teach-
ing Sociology, 43(1), 61–67.

Appendix C

Articles that contain an alteration made to a teaching approach

Bioscene
• Burton, R. S. (2014). Readability, Logodiversity, and the Effectiveness of Col-
lege Science Textbooks. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 40(1),
3–10.
• McCabe, D. J., & Knight, E. J. (2016). Null Models for Everyone: A Two-Step
Approach to Teaching Null Model Analysis of Biological Community Structure.
Bioscene: Journal of College Biology Teaching, 42(2), 16–25.
• Metzger, K. J. (2015). Collaborative Teaching Practices in Undergraduate Active
Learning Classrooms: A Report of Faculty Team Teaching Models and Student
Reflections from Two Biology Courses. Bioscene: Journal of College Biology
Teaching, 41(1), 3–9.

Journal of Chemical Education

• Bauer, C. F., & Cole, R. (2012). Validation of an assessment rubric via controlled
modification of a classroom activity. Journal of Chemical Education, 89(9),
1104–1108.
• Duis, J. M., Schafer, L. L., Nussbaum, S., & Stewart, J. J. (2013). A process for
developing introductory science laboratory learning goals to enhance student
learning and instructional alignment. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(9),
1144–1150.
• Glaser, R. E., Delarosa, M. A., Salau, A. O., & Chicone, C. (2014). Dynamical
Approach to Multiequilibria Problems for Mixtures of Acids and Their Conju-
gated Bases. Journal of Chemical Education, 91(7), 1009–1016.
• Gregory, R. B., & Lauber, M. (2012). Whoosh Bottle Safety, Again: What About
What Is Inside?. Journal of Chemical Education, 89(5), 620–623.
3 Inventorying the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Literature 123

• Grove, N. P., Cooper, M. M., & Cox, E. L. (2012). Does mechanistic thinking
improve student success in organic chemistry?. Journal of Chemical Education,
89(7), 850–853.
• Johnson, A. T. (2014). A prospective method to guide small molecule drug
design. Journal of Chemical Education, 92(5), 836–842.
• Kendhammer, L., Holme, T., & Murphy, K. (2013). Identifying differential
performance in general chemistry: Differential item functioning analysis of
ACS General Chemistry trial tests. Journal of Chemical Education, 90(7),
846–853.
• Logan, J. L., Quiñones, R., & Sunderland, D. P. (2014). Poster presentations:
Turning a lab of the week into a culminating experience. Journal of Chemical
Education, 92(1), 96–101.
• Mutambuki, J., & Fynewever, H. (2012). Comparing Chemistry Faculty Beliefs
about Grading with Grading Practices. Journal of Chemical Education, 89(3),
326–334.
• Nelson, D. J., Kumar, R., & Ramasamy, S. (2015). Comparing Carbonyl Chem-
istry in Comprehensive Introductory Organic Chemistry Textbooks. Journal of
Chemical Education, 92(7), 1171–1177.
• Paik, S. H. (2015). Understanding the Relationship Among Arrhenius, Brønsted–
Lowry, and Lewis Theories. Journal of Chemical Education, 92(9), 1484–1489.
• Raker, J., Holme, T., & Murphy, K. (2013). The ACS Exams Institute under-
graduate chemistry anchoring concepts content map II: Organic Chemistry.
Journal of Chemical Education, 90(11), 1443–1445.
• Ryan, M. D., & Reid, S. A. (2015). Impact of the flipped classroom on student
performance and retention: a parallel controlled study in general chemistry.
Journal of Chemical Education, 93(1), 13–23.
• Schwartz, P., & Barbera, J. (2014). Evaluating the content and response process
validity of data from the chemical concepts inventory. Journal of Chemical
Education, 91(5), 630–640.
• Tellinghuisen, J. (2015). Using least squares for error propagation. Journal of
Chemical Education, 92(5), 864–870.

Teaching Sociology
• Grauerholz, L., & Settembrino, M. (2016). Teaching Inequalities: Using Public
Transportation and Visual Sociology to Make It Real. Teaching Sociology, 44(3),
200–211.
• Picca, L. H., Starks, B., & Gunderson, J. (2013). “It Opened My Eyes” Using
Student Journal Writing to Make Visible Race, Class, and Gender in Everyday
Life. Teaching Sociology, 41(1), 82–93.
• Prince, B. F., Kozimor-King, M. L., & Steele, J. (2015). An Old Tool
Reexamined Using the Star Power Simulation to Teach Social Inequality. Teach-
ing Sociology, 43(4), 301–309.
• Stein, R. E., Colyer, C. J., & Manning, J. (2016). Student Accountability in
Team-based Learning Classes. Teaching Sociology, 44(1), 28–38.
124 J. M. Braxton et al.

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Chapter 4
The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual,
Transgender, Queer Issues in Higher
Education

Karen Graves

The Woolley-Marks Papers are not a record of some private embarrassment, but rather the
brave statement of two women important in the history of higher education in this country.
As professional historians, we respectfully and urgently request that the Papers be treated
with the same care and openness that have characterized the handling of such Papers as those
of Edith Wharton and Franklin Roosevelt or any number of other manuscript collections
which contain sensitive material which have been used responsibly by scholars to give us
history of great value (as cited in Fields, n.d.).

In 1976 historians at Mount Holyoke College petitioned President David Truman,

asking that restrictions on access to the papers of the college’s most pivotal presi-
dent, Mary Woolley (1901–1937), be lifted. Truman and his immediate predecessor,
President Richard Gettell (1957–1968), were concerned that two sets of Woolley’s
papers would rekindle a controversy at the college that stretched back four decades
(Fields, n.d.). One set, the records of the Committee of Nine, traced the actions of the
Board of Trustees in appointing President Roswell Ham (1937–1957) as Woolley’s
successor, making him the first man to lead the college. Woolley, who had
reinvigorated the national reputation of Mount Holyoke during her 36 years of
leadership, was surprised and outraged at the decision. She left South Hadley on
27 July 1937, never to return to the college. Then, in 1975 after extensive corre-
spondence between President Woolley and English professor Jeannette Marks
surfaced, President Truman directed that archival staff allow those recently acquired
materials “be seen by no one” (cited in Fields, n.d.) However, Anna Mary Wells,
Mount Holyoke ‘26, had already had access to the collection and in 1976 requested
permission to cite the Woolley papers in her forthcoming biography of Marks and
Woolley. When the initial request was denied, Wells became an unlikely pioneer in
the study of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer (LGBTQ) issues in the history

K. Graves (*)
Department of Education, Denison University, Granville, OH, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 127

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_4
128 K. Graves

of higher education. As she noted in the foreword to Miss Marks and Miss Woolley,
opening the box containing the Woolley-Marks correspondence “radically altered”
her approach to the dual biography, as well as “the feeling of the college authorities
about it” (Wells, 1978, p. viii).
The historians at Mount Holyoke who petitioned the president for access to the
Woolley-Marks correspondence were ahead of the curve in arguing that histories of
sexual minorities occupy an important place in academic scholarship, and should be
addressed with openness and respect. Jonathan Katz had just published his landmark
Gay American History (1976), and Foucault’s History of Sexuality (1978) had not
yet been translated into English. The battle over access to the Woolley-Marks papers
occurred well in advance of most colleges adopting lesbian and gay studies in the
curriculum.1 Martha Nussbaum’s (1992) account of the difficulties she and her
colleagues at Brown University encountered in introducing lesbian and gay studies
in the mid-1980s provides evidence of the sort of academic hostility to scholarship
on sexuality that characterized the early years of this work. She drew parallels
between the challenges in establishing women’s studies programs and lesbian and
gay studies, but emphasized that “On this one issue of sexual orientation. . .the
straight academy’s (and above all the straight male academy’s) fear of contagion
was so deep that it was rare indeed to find support for those claims of justice, or for
the closely related claims of scholarly inclusiveness” (Nussbaum, 1992, p. 32). In
her hallmark style, Nussbaum argued with clarity that support for the new studies
was rooted, most importantly, in scholarly integrity concerning the pursuit of truth
and understanding. She cited, as an example, David Herlihy’s work as a founding
member of the Women’s Studies Committee at Harvard and his contributions to the
collective effort to add lesbian and gay studies to the curriculum at Brown. The
esteemed historian placed scholarly critique and reason above curricular tradition
bound by social prejudice, as evidenced by his support of John Boswell’s graduate
study that culminated in one of the landmark works (1980) in gay history.
For her part, Wells had simply set out to write a biography of Mary Emma
Woolley, notable Mount Holyoke president whose historical record appeared curi-
ously slim by the 1970s. Woolley’s prominence in women’s education history was
without question, having achieved national recognition for her work in higher
education, women’s organizations, and peace and disarmament talks. In 1930,
Good Housekeeping editors listed her among 12 “greatest living women in America”
(Wells, 1978, p. 211). Woolley’s own educational trajectory—graduate of Wheaton
Seminary in Norton, Massachusetts, among the first class of women admitted to
Brown University, A.B. 1894, M.A. 1895, and professor at Wellesley College—
reflected the changing terrain of women’s higher education in the late-nineteenth
century. Certainly Woolley was a worthy candidate for a biographer interested in
exploring the first decades of women’s higher education in the United States. Wells

1
Eaklor (2008) reports that the University of Nebraska offered the first gay studies course in a
college curriculum in 1970 and California State University, Sacramento established the first gay
studies program 2 years later.
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 129

was aware that the circumstances surrounding Woolley’s departure from the college
in 1937 would require careful consideration and was prepared to “slide gracefully
over it at the end” of the book (Wells, 1978, p. viii).
Wells also knew about the 55-year relationship between Woolley and Jeannette
Marks that began when Marks was Woolley’s student at Wellesley. It was common
knowledge on campus in the 1920s when Wells was a student at Mount Holyoke, if
not necessarily cause for much comment. In her study Wells drew on material in the
Wellesley and Mount Holyoke archives to document the reciprocal nature regarding
the influence of women’s relationships on women’s colleges and the ways in which
women’s academic communities affected individual women’s relationships. She
was not prepared for the contents of the crate opened in the Mount Holyoke archives
in 1975, however, soon to be off limits to researchers. Wells explained she was
“shocked and embarrassed” by the letters packed in “neat brown paper packages
labeled with initials and dates. . . .letters in the packages in their original envelopes,
addressed in Miss Woolley’s now-familiar hand or Miss Marks’ difficult scrawl,
stamped and postmarked” (Wells, 1978, p. ix). For the purposes of historiography,
Well’s foreword is perhaps now the most enlightening part of the biography. It
provides a glimpse of how the author of the first significant book dealing with
LGBTQ themes in the history of higher education struggled to make sense of
evidence of intimacy in the lives of her subjects.
One cannot dismiss Wells’ unsubstantiated claims that the Woolley-Marks “rela-
tionship began in the childlike ignorance of sexual matters in which many young
women of their generation were kept” (1978, p. x) or that “professional women of
their generation. . .abjured sex” (p. xii). But it is important to note, too, that Wells
reflected upon her own prejudices in a way that highlights the unrest of a generation
of scholars on the cusp of new ways of thinking about sexuality. “It seemed to me
impossible to ignore or suppress the content of the letters, impertinent to continue to
read them, and quite unthinkable to publish them. . . . I had supposed myself to be
open-minded and tolerant about sexual deviation, but it now appeared that I was not
at all when it occurred in women I admired and respected” (Wells, 1978, p. ix).
While readers, then and now, rightfully take issue with some of the language and
assumptions in Wells’ analysis, her criticism of efforts to keep a lid on the “shameful
secret” at Mount Holyoke was on point: “the conspiracy of silence was not working”
(Wells, 1978, pp. x–xi). Thus, the reluctant scholar took her place in the debate just
heating up among women’s historians concerning appropriate terminology for
women who loved women in earlier periods (Chambers-Schiller, 1979). Wells did
not describe Woolley and Marks as lesbians because she considered the term
pejorative and inaccurate, implying a necessary connection to particular types of
physical expression of affection (p. x). Wells was assessing the subject from the
standpoint of a person who came of age in the 1920s, a critical period in the
transformation of how Americans thought about sexuality, while in the midst of
another significant turning point regarding how Americans thought about sexuality.
In retrospect it appears that Wells was right about two important points. First,
while taking pains to expose her own lack of tolerance regarding the sexuality of
Marks and Woolley, Wells was, nonetheless, more broadminded than many of her
130 K. Graves

contemporaries, Mount Holyoke alumnae and fellow scholars alike (see, for exam-
ple, Kendall, 1976, pp. 131–143). Wells could see that any responsible biography of
Woolley or Marks would have to feature their relationship as a central theme, and
rather than abandon the writing project she brought the contents of the archival crate
out for scholarly discussion. Second, Wells was cognizant of the historian’s under-
standing of perspective. Noting that “a new generation will see the facts in a new
light,” Wells explained, “I cannot hope to justify the lovers’ self-denial to the young
any more than to justify their love to the old, but I have told their story to the best of
my ability” (1978, p. xii).
Wells’ biography of Miss Marks and Miss Woolley was the opening chapter in a
line of scholarship on LGBTQ history in higher education. Four decades on, work
remains relatively sparse in this field of study. But things have changed substantially
at Mount Holyoke since Mary Ann Wells cracked into the Woolley-Marks corre-
spondence. Restrictions on the collection were removed in 1990, and in 2012 Head
Archivist Leslie Fields (n.d.) began the process of cataloguing the 38 boxes of
material. Student curators Megan Haaga, ‘15, Jennie Ochterski, ’15, and Carolina
Palmer, ’15 prepared an exhibit, “Mary Woolley & Jeannette Marks: Life, Love, &
Letters” (n.d.) for the Mount Holyoke College Archives and Special Collections, that
now can be accessed online. In 1999, Mount Holyoke College opened what would
become known as the Jeannette Marks Cultural Center to serve members of the
college community who identify as sexual and gender minorities, and allies (The
Jeannette Marks Center, n.d.). Today the Woolley-Marks legacy is widely recog-
nized as “history of great value,” at Mount Holyoke College and beyond (cited in
Fields, n.d.).
In 2012, I published a historiographical essay assessing the field of LGBTQ
education history, elaborating on the text I delivered the previous year as Vice
President of Division F: History and Historiography in the American Educational
Research Association. There wasn’t much to report on, and one of the questions I
addressed then was why education historians have been relatively late in incorpo-
rating questions of sexuality into their work. Although LGBTQ research in the
history of education has unfolded in patterns similar to the broader field of
LGBTQ history, education historians were not among the grassroots activists who
labored on local history projects “to uncover history that the academy had neglected,
or perhaps, resisted” (Graves, 2012, p. 478). Citing William Pinar’s claim that
homophobia “is especially intense in the field of education” (1998, p. 2), I argued
that Colleges of Education were not welcoming spaces for scholars who focused on
the queer history of education. In addition, evidence regarding perceptions of
sexuality, elusive for most historians, is particularly difficult to find when the sub-
jects are students, teachers, or professors living and working under strict public
scrutiny. Finally, education historians, particularly in the United States, have been
slow to incorporate theory, explicitly, into their scholarship. This tendency has done
little to bridge the gap between history of education research and queer studies. To
date, there is no landmark work in the history of higher education to parallel Jackie
Blount’s 2005 volume, Fit To Teach, a comprehensive history of lesbian and gay
school workers in the United States. Blount began this study before lesbian and gay
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 131

archives had established a strong institutional presence, and before the advent of
ready access to online resources. Gathering relevant primary sources was, in and of
itself, a significant contribution to the history of teachers. But Blount’s central
argument—that those who desire others of the same sex or otherwise transgress
gender norms have always been among America’s educators—established a critical
theoretical framework for LGBTQ education history. In a corollary analysis, Blount
examined why these educators had to maintain a relatively low profile throughout
much of the twentieth century. More than any other scholar, Blount has shown that
schools have held, among other primary concerns, a fierce commitment to regulating
the sexuality of the nation.
This historiographical essay surveys histories of higher education that have
examined LGBTQ issues as a central theme, or included substantial analysis of
LGBTQ issues as part of a larger argument. The focus is decidedly on the experi-
ences of sexual minorities in higher education, as students, professors, or adminis-
trative staff, and related issues. The scope of the study does not encompass broader
issues relating to gender and sexualities, except as such research intersects with
LGBTQ history. Throughout the essay, I use the terms “lesbian,” “gay,” “homosex-
ual,” “queer,” “bisexual,” and “transgender” as they surface in particular historical
moments, and address historiographical debates about terminology as part of the
analysis. It is widely understood that “gender expression, sexual behavior, attraction,
and identity are each separate and distinct domains” (Wimberly, 2015, p. 5; Graves,
2012) and that the multiple definitions regarding sexuality are fluid, embraced by
some and not others, and have changed over time. Therefore, I am using the term
“LGBTQ” as a general categorization common to research in the field. One should
note, however, that very little scholarship in the history of higher education explic-
itly addresses bisexual or transgender students, professors, or issues, and publica-
tions that embrace queer theory have only recently emerged in the literature.
I started compiling the bibliography of sources that constitute this review a
decade ago, and have added to it as new work is published in the history of
education. Since so few books have been published in this area, it is important to
include journal publications in a review of the field. In 2016, I ran a targeted search,
beginning with Exe Libris: the UK History of Education Society’s Online Bibliog-
raphy. This is a comprehensive search engine for scholarship in the history of
education that includes 56 UK historical journals, ANZHES Journal (the journal of
the Australian and New Zealand History of Education Society), History of Education
Review, History of Education Quarterly (the journal of the United States History of
Education Society), and Paedagogica Historica (the journal of the International
Standing Conference for the History of Education). The following list of keywords
resulted in just one article addressing LGBTQ issues in higher education history:
“homosexuality,” “gay,” “lesbian,” “transgender,” “same sex,” “queer,” “sexuality,”
“purge.” This recent search reinforced an observation I had already made: most
published research on LGBTQ issues in the history of higher education does not
appear in history of education journals. One must look elsewhere, so I ran a search of
the same keywords on the EBSCO database, specifically targeting the following
search engines: Academic Search Complete, America: History & Life, Education
132 K. Graves

Full Text, Education Research Complete, Gender Studies Database, Historical

Abstracts, LGBT Life with Full Text, and Women’s Studies International. In this
search I crossed the keywords listed above with “higher education” and “history,”
yielding a number of hits but only four articles on LGBTQ issues in higher education
history.
To begin my analysis of the literature, I separated the resulting bibliography into
three parts: books, articles, and films on the history of higher education that address
LGBTQ issues as a central theme; books and articles that either incorporate LGBTQ
issues in higher education in broader LGBTQ histories or address historical themes
in broader treatments of LGBTQ issues in higher education; books and articles that
examine life histories of people in higher education, either through biographies,
surveys, or other reflections on college experiences. I then organized the material
into sections that present a thematic overview of the literature, beginning with early
work that simply established the presence of LGBTQ people in the academy. In that
section, I examine biographies that informed our understanding of women’s relation-
ships in late-nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century colleges and their connections
to women’s claims on educational, political, and social rights during that period.
Dilley’s (2002) typology of male sexual identity, Queer Man on Campus, and
Shand-Tucci’s (2003) study of the ways in which Harvard men over the course of
a century came to understand and express their sexuality were useful contributions
that followed roughly two decades later. At the same time, Beemyn (2003a)
published an article in the first issue of the Journal of Gay & Lesbian Issues in
Education that included a short overview of transgender history and referenced
recent experiences of three college students.
Sexual politics shifted in the middle decades of the twentieth century so that by
the post-World War II era “mere survival ruled the day” (Bernstein, 2002, p. 542) for
gay men and lesbians, on campus and off. Government officials at federal, state, and
local levels manically embraced a wide-sweeping strategy of repression of sexual
minorities that included arrests, forced hospitalization, loss of jobs, blackmail,
surveillance, and physical attack (Graves, 2015). Thus, this essay’s second section
reviews the series of purges which attacked the very presence of LGBTQ people on
college campuses during the Cold War. The most intense and concentrated of those
witch hunts occurred in Florida, between 1956 and 1965. Research on the Florida
Legislative Investigation Committee published between 1992 and 2014 (Braukman,
2012; Graves, 2006, 2009; Poucher, 2014a; Schnur, 1992, 1997; Sears, 1997) is the
most developed scholarship on this topic, and constitutes a considerable part of the
bibliography on the history of LGBTQ issues in higher education. Historians have
documented other purges, some occurring before the Cold War, at Harvard, Dart-
mouth, Smith, Illinois, Michigan, Missouri, Wisconsin, Texas, Southern Missis-
sippi, and UCLA (Feinberg and Odeshoo, 2000; “Hunting Homosexuals at Southern
Miss: 1955–1965,” 2016; Martin, 1994; Nash and Silverman, 2015; Syrett, 2007;
Tsang, 1977a, 1977b; Weiler, 2007; Wright, 2005).
At about the same time that historians turned their attention to research on gay
purges at colleges and universities, others were beginning to analyze LGBTQ
students’ efforts to organize on campuses. This work, detailed in the third section,
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 133

appeared as journal articles and book chapters; no full-length treatment has yet been
published. Similarly, historical scholarship on gender and sexuality that intersects
with LGBTQ themes in higher education, the topic of the final section, appears most
often as part of larger works addressing notions of masculinity in European univer-
sities and American fraternities, and the sexual revolution that transformed
U.S. culture in the 1960s and 1970s (Bailey, 1999; Friedman, 2005; Syrett, 2009;
Weber, 2008).
In 2011, preeminent gay historian John D’Emilio addressed the members of the
History of Education Society meeting in Chicago, encouraging scholars to take up a
new challenge in writing LGBTQ history. As the field entered its fourth decade it
was time, he said, to think about how LGBTQ history contributes to an increased
understanding of broader questions of historical significance. Looking back over the
trajectory of research on LGBTQ history in higher education, one can appreciate the
difficult work historians began in the 1970s that established a foundation for future
study. It was no small thing to document the presence of LGBTQ people in the
academy, drawing fragments of evidence from personal correspondence and the
ways in which people lived their lives. As Cold War restrictions drew tighter around
gay men and lesbians falsely accused of posing a deviant threat to the social and
political order, investigative committees, court records, and news reports left a trail
of interrogation transcripts, official sanctions, policies, and laws for historians to
interpret in the decades to come.2 The repression gave rise to gay rights groups and,
later, student organizations that produced their own policy documents, publications,
and other primary sources that historians have turned to, along with an increasing
reliance on interviews, to examine the changing landscape of LGBTQ issues in
higher education. Throughout, historians have weighed the impact of contemporary
scholarly and popular literature in science, medicine, psychology, religion, law, and
education, among other fields, on changing cultural norms regarding sexuality. In the
last decade, historical scholarship on LGBTQ issues in higher education has relied
more on queer theory in framing questions for analysis. To paraphrase the Queer
Nation (60) rallying cry of the 1990s, education historians have made it clear over
the last few decades that “we’re here” in higher education. It falls to an emerging
generation of scholars to articulate in richer detail what it means, and has meant, to
be queer in the academy.

4.1 Establishing a Presence

. . .[T]he aim of my research, while physically most ambitious, was intellectually quite
modest—to simply recover and present a significantly large, wide-ranging collection of
historical documents concerning . . . Gay American history. . . . After several years of
research, working alone, with quite meager financial resources, I was able to uncover

2
Karen Harbeck’s 1997 landmark work, Gay and lesbian educators: Personal freedoms, public
constraints, is a useful starting point for analyzing the legal terrain during this period.
134 K. Graves

evidence of a vast, subterranean world of same-sex relations, coexistent with the ordinary
historical universe. I now believe it will one day be possible to write a comprehensive,
analytical, narrative chronicle of the homosexual American experience, but only after Gay
history is legitimized, after it becomes a cooperative enterprise, after more research is
undertaken and more evidence collected. . . . This book is significantly not a product of
academia; it does not play it safe; it is rough at the edges, radical at heart (Katz, 1976,
pp. 6, 8).

It is fitting to remember how desolate the scholarly landscape of LGBTQ history

was in 1976 when Jonathan Katz published Gay American History. Historians’ turn
to social history had barely begun when Katz “single-handedly created a subfield of
American history” (Downs, 2016, n.p.). Well, not exactly single-handed, as Katz
himself was the first to point out. Part of the impetus for his work came from the Gay
Socialist Action Project, a group of activists and intellectuals who met regularly at
John D’Emilio’s New York apartment to discuss critiques of power structures
ranging from Marx to feminist and critical race theorists of the moment. Downs
(60) reports that the group was “searching for a new theoretical framework for what
it meant to be gay and for instructions on how to launch a revolution” (n.p.). Katz
came to appreciate the critical importance of documenting one’s history, as a buffer
against changing political winds. “If you think of yourself as some sort of psycho-
logical mutant or biological freak, you have an ahistorical way of looking at yourself.
Gays have a history, a society. And it’s very important to me to show not only the
ways in which gays have been oppressed, but the ways in which they have survived
and resisted” (as cited in Downs, 2016, n.p.).
Katz (1976) referenced more than 25 colleges, universities, and medical schools
in his 690-page volume, although in most cases that involved simply noting the
institutions as part of a person’s educational biography or as sites for anti-gay
“research.” Some of these brief reports, however, staked new ground that other
historians would explore in later years. Most of these addressed same-sex relation-
ships involving students or faculty, for example, Antoinette Brown and Lucy Stone
at Oberlin, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Martin Gay at Harvard, women attending
Johns Hopkins Medical School—“apparently a hotbed of Lesbianism and feminism”
in the early 1900s—and, Bryn Mawr President M. Carey Thomas’ relationships with
Mary Gwinn and Mary Garrett (Katz, 1976, p. 645, n. 9). Bertrand Russell’s
autobiography provided the window into the Thomas-Gwinn-Garrett triangle, an
example of how much of LGBTQ history is preserved through sources hostile to the
subject. Katz observed that Russell probably would not have recalled the relation-
ship at all, absent the conflict between Gwinn and Thomas adding, “a great many
homosexually relevant documents come to portray problematic episodes in the lives
they recorded” (Katz, 1976, p. 59).
Katz effectively parlayed shreds of available information into a documentary
history that has stood the test of time. His writing was carefully structured to guard
against reaching beyond the evidence. For example, noting that Henry David
Thoreau “often explores and tries to sum up the meaning and quality of his intimate
interactions with men—that special love-friendship which is a recurrent theme of his
writing,” Katz wrote that “it would not have been unusual if Thoreau had found one
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 135

special friend among his Harvard schoolmates” (1976, p. 481). This is a theme that
Shand-Tucci elaborated on in his 2003 book, The Crimson Letter: Harvard, Homo-
sexuality, and the Shaping of American Culture.
Katz drew attention to a few primary sources that would, in later years, serve as
foundational elements in the emerging historiography of LGBTQ issues in higher
education. His section on English socialist Edward Carpenter, for instance, opened a
portal to work that explores discourse on sexuality at Oxbridge (Dowling, 1994;
Weber, 2008). Carpenter, best remembered for his early articulation of homosexu-
ality in positive terms, contrasted different climates regarding perceptions of sexu-
ality. He observed, “We must remember, too, how different, the atmosphere on all
these matters was then [1891] (especially in the U.S.A.) from what it is now [1924]
in the centres of modern culture, and in places like Oxford and Cambridge and
London, where you can nowadays talk as freely as you like, and where sex variations
and even abnormalities are almost a stock subject of conversation” (as cited in Katz,
1976, p. 365). In 1994, Dowling pointed readers to the way that Greek studies at
Oxford in the Victorian Era operated as “homosexual code” to justify male same-sex
love, while making it clear that “‘homosexuality’ eventually emerged as a positive
social identity only through a slow process of cultural transformation taking place
over centuries” (p. xiii). Taddeo (1997) picked up the story in the Edwardian Era
with an analysis on the “New Style of Love” practiced by the Cambridge Apostles, a
version of male love that “separated the lower from the Higher forms of sodomy, the
body from the soul, and passion from love” (p. 201). It was a version of manly love
that claimed class and gender privilege, and male superiority. Quinn and Brooke
(2011) argued that Edward Carpenter and John Addington Symonds rejected this
aristocratic reading of homosexuality and, instead, embraced a democratic, more
inclusive sexuality. Quinn and Brooke concluded, “Different versions of homosex-
uality could buttress different versions of socialism; to talk about sex—as ever—was
also to be talking about politics” (2011, p. 696).
In another section Katz introduced readers to Katharine Bement Davis’ 1929
report, Factors in the Sex Life of Twenty-Two Hundred Women, a study that included
two chapters on homosexuality. Blount (2005) drew from this work to establish the
fact that significant numbers of women educators in the early-twentieth century
experienced intense emotional and/or sexual relationships with women, a point she
notes that Davis made in generally positive terms.
Katz also highlighted incidents regarding gay and lesbian purges that others
would analyze more thoroughly, including dismissals from Smith College (Martin,
1994; Shand-Tucci, 2003) and universities in Florida (Braukman, 2012; Graves,
2006, 2009; Poucher, 2014a; Schnur, 1992, 1997; Sears, 1997). Recently, Katz has
been instrumental in recording details on the “hunt for homosexuals” at Southern
Mississippi University from 1955 to 1965, and is organizing a nationwide database
(60) at OutHistory.org to document the university purges. Homophobic impulses did
not always win the day, however. Gardner Jackson recalled from his student days at
Amherst (1915–1916) that Robert Frost asked President Meiklejohn to fire his
colleague in the English department, Stark Young, on the basis of Young’s homo-
sexuality (Katz, 1976). Evidently, there were other areas of conflict between the
136 K. Graves

professors, and Meiklejohn refused to dismiss Professor Young, presumably due to

his competence as a teacher. Although President Lowell would take a drastically
different approach in the next few years at Harvard (Wright, 2005), purges of gay
and lesbian faculty had not yet become as aggressive as during the Cold War
(detailed in the next section).
Some sections in Gay American History underscore the point that Blount (2005)
and others have since developed: gender transgressions often provoked more fury in
schools and universities than same-sex desire. Katz reported on the case of a student
at Cornell who was expelled in the 1880s for attending a concert with another
woman dressed in a man’s suit. According to a recollection by Cornell alumna
Ellen Coit Brown, ’82, the expelled student was eventually reinstated at the univer-
sity and graduated. While she ended up living a “long and exemplary life,” the
woman’s “companion who wore the man’s suit never appeared at college again but
faded into anonymity” (Brown cited in Katz, 1976, p. 231).
While it would fall to others (for example, Boswell, 1980; Chauncey, 1994;
Cook, 1977; D’Emilio, 1983; D’Emilio & Freedman, 1988; Duberman, Vicinus,
& Chauncey, Jr., 1989; Faderman, 1981; Kennedy & Davis, 1993) to break into the
academic ranks, Katz’s painstaking work assured that generations of LGBTQ people
would come to know they have a history.
Historians who study nineteenth- and twentieth-century women’s colleges were
the first to write on LGBTQ issues in higher education. Prominent work includes
Wells’ biography (1978) of Jeannette Marks and Mary Woolley, Judith Schwarz’s
1979 article on Katharine Lee Bates and Katharine Coman, Patricia Palmieri’s path-
breaking research on the community of women faculty at Wellesley (1983, 1995),
Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz’s biographical study of M. Carey Thomas (1992, 1994),
and Nancy Sahli’s influential article, “Smashing: Women’s Relationships Before the
Fall” (1979). The imprint of women’s history and feminist theory on these begin-
nings is evident; Sahli’s and Schwarz’s articles appeared in women’s studies
journals, and Carroll Smith-Rosenberg’s foundational article (1975) appeared on
the first pages of the first issue of Signs: Journal of Women and Culture in Society.
Smith-Rosenberg’s “The Female World of Love and Ritual” remains a requisite
reference in lesbian, women’s, and gender history, describing the network of inti-
mate, supportive relationships that girls and women developed in the nineteenth
century. Smith-Rosenberg encouraged her readers to “view sexual and emotional
impulses as part of a continuum or spectrum of affect gradations strongly effected by
cultural norms and arrangements, a continuum influenced in part by observed and
thus learned behavior” (1975, pp. 28–29). Her research revealed that, in different
historical contexts, people have more or less freedom to move across the spectrum
from heterosexuality to homosexuality. Whether or not historians chose to label
emotional, sensual, and sexual relationships between people of the same sex in the
past as “lesbian” or “gay,” however, was another question. Given that “[w]omen’s
colleges were important sites in defending social constructionists’ claims that his-
torical forces shaped the possibilities that led women to claim a lesbian identity,”
education historians have had a central role in this debate (Graves, 2012, p. 479).
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 137

Alison Oram and Annmarie Turnbull’s introduction to The Lesbian History

Sourcebook (2001) addresses this question in clear fashion. They articulate the
complexity of the issue, first, by explaining that “lesbian” encompasses many
meanings and identities, ranging from “feminist woman-identified-woman (empha-
sizing community and politics) to a specifically sexual definition (emphasizing
powerful eroticism and transgression)” (Oram & Turnbull, 2001, p. 1). Since these
meanings have changed over time and women rarely claimed a lesbian identity until
recent decades, we cannot simply apply a concept or language from one time to
another. Rather, historians must “enter into the culture of the past as best we can, and
understand the social and economic constraints within which women could express
or act out love and desire for other women, while at the same time recognizing that
our questions, concerns and interests, and the interpretations we make of women in
the past, have arisen in our specific historical circumstances” (Oram & Turnbull,
2001, p. 1). Oram and Turnbull’s definition of lesbian requires some evidence of a
broad sense of eroticism, whether indicated by sexual practices, transgressing gender
roles, or women’s consciousness of their feelings toward other women. They add
that the scholarly discourse on how to “define lesbianism historically” has been most
useful in underscoring “the diversity and ephemerality of historical evidence of
desire between women,” not that it has led to a stable definition of the term (Oram
& Turnbull, 2001, p. 2). Leila Rupp (1989) offered a comparable set of guidelines,
cautioning that one bear in mind that identity and sexual behavior are discrete
elements, sexual behavior is only one factor in a relationship, definitive evidence
of sexual behavior is hard to come by, and what does exist is often misinterpreted. In
her collective biography of Wellesley faculty from 1875 to 1930, Palmieri adopted a
similar stance, describing the Seven Sisters college “as a community of women-
committed women,” adding that such an approach “acknowledges the elements of
love, physical affection, and openly sexual behavior in some Wellesley marriages
and reserves the term lesbian for women who have consciously claimed that
identity” (Palmieri, 1995, p. 138).
Judith Schwarz did not hesitate to refer to Wellesley professors Katharine Lee
Bates and Katharine Coman as “a devoted lesbian couple” in her 1979 biographical
sketch (p. 59). Consciously striking out to contribute to what she perceived as a
nearly non-existent history of independent women, Schwarz acknowledged the
concerns that historians have about referring to “long-dead women” as lesbians.
Yet the term, for Schwarz, meant much more than an implication of overt sexual
acts. Citing Phyllis Lyon’s definition of a lesbian as “a woman whose primary erotic,
psychological, emotional, and social interest is in a member of her own sex,”
Schwarz argued that the more important concern was to “discover and analyze
how these women lived their lives outside of the standard comforts and socially
approved protection of a male-female relationship” (Schwarz, 1979, p. 60).
Although her analysis centers on Bates and Coman, Schwarz referenced Vida
Scudder and Florence Converse, Margaret Sherwood and Martha Shackford, and
Jeanette Marks and Mary Woolley as other couples in the Wellesley orbit who left
evidence of the kind of mutually supportive, vital relationships that sustained
professional women in the early-twentieth century. The biographical studies by
138 K. Graves

Schwarz (1979), Horowitz (1992, 1994), and Wells (1978) provide glimpses into the
early functioning of the women’s colleges by some of their most acclaimed leaders,
and at times, some insight into how the women, themselves, thought about their life
choices. Schwarz reports, for instance, that when a friend described “free flying
spinsters” as a “fringe on the garment of life,” Professor Bates responded, “I always
thought the fringe had the best of it. I don’t think I mind not being woven in”
(as cited in Schwarz, 1979, p. 65).
Prior to the release of her 1994 biography of Bryn Mawr President M. Carey
Thomas, Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz published an article in the Journal of American
History (1992) in which she argued that Thomas created her self-identity through
reading. Deeply immersed in the biographical study, Horowitz knew that it was not
easy to access the private thoughts that guided Thomas in her personal relationships.
“Thomas was a formidable public figure,” Horowitz explained, “who sheathed
herself in the conventions of her era” (Horowitz, 1992, p. 69). Based on juxtaposed
readings of Thomas’ letters and diary with the poetry and fiction she read, Horowitz
aimed to develop “an understanding of how a Quaker daughter born in the
constricted world of mid-nineteenth-century Baltimore could emerge by her early
twenties as a free-thinking woman capable of pursuing an independent course in
Europe to attain the Ph.D. and of passionately loving another woman” (1992, p. 72).
Horowitz argued that a method that envisions reading as a social experience as well
as a private act can be a useful tool in reconsidering our notions of women’s love for
other women, and claimed a new perspective on women’s same-sex love. “Carey
Thomas and the women of her circle were not part of either the world of sentimental
friendship or that of lesbianism. They did not take their primary cues from prescrip-
tive literature. They were not passive victims of male definitions. They sought out
and read works of fiction and poetry, written largely by men, that opened them to a
sensuous world of eroticism between women. They actively and willingly chose the
passionate sensibility of ‘nous autres’” (Horowitz, 1992, p. 91). Similar to the
position she had taken in 1984 (pp. 187–197), Horowitz explicitly noted that she
avoided using the terms “lesbian” and “sexual” in her study of M. Carey Thomas
since Thomas did not consider that women’s feelings for each other had a sexual
basis until she read the work of sexologists in the 1890s. Horowitz preferred to
describe Thomas as “a passionate woman who reveled in aesthetic delights and
formed intense, loving commitments to other women” (Horowitz, 1992, p. 94).
Sahli (1979) claimed Blanche Cook’s definition of lesbian, “[w]omen who love
women, who choose women to nurture and support and to create a living environ-
ment in which to work creatively and independently” (as cited on p. 17), in her
exploration of changing perceptions of women’s relationships at the end of the
nineteenth century. She cited women’s enrollment in coeducational and women’s
colleges as one of the significant social changes that had an impact on shifting
notions of acceptable behavior among women. Living and working together at the
colleges, women students and professors shared a commitment to claiming new
educational, social, and political opportunities. They joined together to combat the
sexist backlash to these advances as expressed by opponents of higher education for
women. Sahli cited excerpts from Dr. Edward Clarke’s popular text, Sex in
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 139

Education: or, A Fair Chance for the Girls, that castigated college-educated women
for abandoning what he thought was women’s proper bearing: “There are those who
write and act as if their object were to assimilate woman as much as possible to man,
by dropping all that is distinctively feminine out of her, and putting into her as large
an amount of masculineness [sic] as possible. . . .There may be some subtle physi-
ological basis for such views; for many who hold and advocate them are of those,
who, having passed middle life without the symmetry and development that mater-
nity gives, have drifted into the hermaphroditic condition that sometimes accom-
panies spinsterism” (as cited in Sahli, 1979, p. 20).
Sahli relied upon women’s correspondence, college documents, reports of the
Association of Collegiate Alumnae, and publications in the emerging field of
sexology to support her argument that aspects of the nineteenth-century feminist
movement converged with the publication of new scientific theories on sexuality to
alter public perception of women’s relationships. She makes a case that the feminist
movement “subverted the heightened emotional commitment which had typified
women’s relationships during most of the nineteenth century” in conjunction with
consciously honing their rational, intellectual capacities as part of their collegiate
training (1979, p. 26). This occurred in parallel with the development of psychiatric
and other prescriptive literature that sought to define and control acceptable sexual
behavior. Sahli’s review (pp. 23–25) remains a useful overview of the emergence of
this literature base.
What may have been most striking to readers, however, when this piece was
published in 1979, was the rich primary source evidence that delineated the central
concept captured in the article’s title. Alice Stone Blackwell’s 1882 description
provides a classic definition of “smashing”: “I could hardly have believed that the
things they told were not exaggerations, if Maria Mitchell hadn’t told me, when I
was visiting at Vassar, what a pest the ‘smashing’ was to the teachers there—how it
kept the girls from studying, & sometimes made a girl drop behind her class year
after year. . . .they write each other the wildest love-letters, & send presents, confec-
tionery, all sorts of things, like a real courting of the Shaksperian [sic] style. If the
‘smash’ is mutual, they monopolize each other & ‘spoon’ continually, & sleep
together & lie awake all night talking instead of going to sleep; & if it isn’t mutual
the unrequited one cries herself sick & endures pangs unspeakable. . . .The coedu-
cational colleges don’t suffer much from ‘smashes.’. . .There are plenty of cases of
‘particular friends,’ but few or none of ‘smashes’” (as cited in Sahli, 1979, p. 22).
Evidence of smashing permeated primary source material such as correspondence,
diaries, campus and other contemporary publications, and many historians addressed
the phenomenon in their work. Jana Nidiffer’s short essay on smashing that appears
in Linda Eisenmann’s 1998 Historical Dictionary of Women’s Education in the
United States provided a concise overview of the concept. Defined as “a version of
same-sex romantic friendships among college women of the late nineteenth century
characterized by rituals of declaring love and courting,” smashing was initially
perceived as a harmless rite of passage (Nidiffer, 1998b, p. 378). However, once
the writings of prominent sexologists began to filter through society, smashing was
recast as a deviant expression of sexuality “and it disappeared by World War I”
140 K. Graves

(Nidiffer, 1998b, p. 378). Other work beyond the scope of this essay’s focus on
higher education addresses student same-sex relationships in English public schools
and boarding schools (Blount, 2005; Blount & Anahita, 2004; Bullough &
Bullough, 1980; de S. Honey, 1977; Gathorne-Hardy, 1977; Vicinus, 1984).
The presence of women who loved women on nineteenth-century college cam-
puses was firmly established in the biographical studies by the historians noted
above. Lillian Faderman drew upon this work in writing her ambitious 1981 cultural
history, Surpassing the Love of Men: Romantic Friendship and Love Between
Women from the Renaissance to the Present. In that volume she included a descrip-
tion of the Marks-Woolley relationship, citing Wells’ 1978 biography and
Schwartz’s 1979 essay on Bates and Coman, among other sources (Burgess, 1952;
Finch, 1947; Kendall, 1976; Scudder, 1937). In her 1991 social history of lesbian life
in twentieth-century America, Faderman synthesized research on “The Educated
‘Spinster’” (pp. 13–18) and “The Metamorphosis of Romantic Friendship”
(pp. 18–22), offering an overview of themes that circulated regarding women’s
higher education in the nineteenth century: the emergence of the women’s colleges,
criticisms of women’s higher education, marriage statistics, Boston marriages, and
smashes, referencing experiences at Bryn Mawr, Cornell, Oberlin, Smith, Wellesley,
and Yale. She expanded on this work in 1999, devoting a section of To Believe in
Women: What Lesbians Have Done for America to the history of women’s higher
education. The title, in fact, referenced a letter to Bryn Mawr President M. Carey
Thomas from an alumna who wrote, “I have forgotten everything I learned at Bryn
Mawr, but I still see you standing in chapel and telling us to believe in women”
(as cited in Faderman, 1999, frontispiece). In these chapters Faderman provides
general overviews of the work of Mary Lyon and Zilpah Grant, Sophia Packard and
Harriet Giles, Lucy Salmon and Adelaide Underhill, and other education leaders
who established intimate partnerships, claiming “many of the early female aca-
demics were virtually case studies of sexual inversion, seemingly right out of the
pages of sexological tomes” (Faderman, 1999, p. 186). She discussed smashes and
Wellesley marriages, and devoted a chapter each to M. Carey Thomas and Mount
Holyoke President Mary Woolley. The prominence of women’s partnerships at
Wellesley College led women to adapt the term, “Boston marriages” to describe
“lifelong relationships of deep significance” that fostered “verbal and physical
expressions of love” (Palmieri, 1995, p. 137). In her discussion of Boston marriages,
Nidiffer notes that these relationships “were known to be monogamous, long-term
life choices for women. . . . Having grown up socialized to treasure women’s friend-
ships and women’s values, the letters and diaries of participants in Boston marriages
indicate that they had found ‘kindred spirits’ and discovered the full satisfactions of
family life in their living arrangements” (Nidiffer, 1998a, p. 53). In her 1915 book on
The Women’s Movement, Jessie Taft wrote, “Everywhere we find the unmarried
women turning to other women, building up with them a real home, finding in them
the sympathy and understanding, the bond of similar standards and values, as well as
the same aesthetic and intellectual interests, that are often difficult of realization in a
husband, especially here in America where business crowds out culture” (as cited in
Nidiffer, 1998a, p. 54). Like the overt crushes experienced by young women,
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 141

however, the phenomenon of Boston marriages would not last. Faderman discussed
the sea change in women’s colleges in the middle decades of the twentieth century,
when domestic science curricula encroached on the liberal arts curriculum, percent-
ages of women holding professorships and administrative positions dropped, and the
heterosexual imperative intensified to the point where “women were warned against
desiring both a serious education and the love of another woman” (Faderman, 1999,
p. 240). Theories promulgated by sexologists at the turn of the twentieth century had
been taken up by psychiatrists, such as the one who declared that female homosex-
uals were often “intellectual and cultured, though sexually infantile” (as cited in
Faderman, 1999, p. 240). That is, he considered homosexuality a sign of arrested
development. Faderman explained that shifting attitudes toward same-sex desire
reflected a wider distribution of the sexologists’ theories that went beyond the
medical establishment and were echoed in the popular press.
Two books that address women’s higher education in the South (Farnham, 1994;
Jabour, 2007) also took up the theme of romantic friendship. Contrasting higher
education for women in the southern states with women’s education in the North,
Farnham challenged the regional bias that defined southern education as inferior.
Rather, she endeavored to show how “basically conservative agendas produced an
advance in women’s education” (Farnham, 1994, pp. 6–7) for the privileged class
even as educators adapted both formal and informal curricula to fit dominant
versions of gender in the South. Part of this argument focused on romantic friend-
ships, common in the South as well as the North. The rituals of female romantic
friendships, patterned on heterosexual love, were similar in both regions but
Farnham detected a “distinctive stamp” in the evidence she examined (1994,
p. 155). She found that women tended to engage in short-term, serial relationships
due to shifting attractions and physical separation when one of the pair would leave
school. Farnham argued that the serial nature of romantic friendships and the image
of the Southern belle actually made them “opposite sides of the same coin, both
leaving a trail of broken hearts” (1994, p. 161). Farnham’s discussion of the extent to
which physical affection occurred in female life in the South in general set a new
context for the questions historians have raised about romantic friendships, partic-
ularly whether they could be characterized as lesbian relationships. She concluded
that it was “more than likely that several things were going on”—simply engaging in
a trendy practice, seeking affection to reduce the pain of familial ties left behind,
joining a high status group of friends—but for some, “romantic friendships had a
broader meaning” (Farnham, 1994, p. 165). But these women, too, had to live within
the conventions of their society. Since southern women did not have access to the
same range of economic opportunities as women in the North, this had an impact on
their life possibilities, diminishing one’s prospect for a “Charleston” marriage.
Farnham observed, “Unlike the North, a lesbian culture failed to spread among
these women, because they were unable to parlay their educations into occupations
that could provide independent incomes sufficient to permit the development of
communities of women” (1994, p. 4, 166).
Jabour’s more recent study (2007) confirms that romantic friendships were “an
important aspect of school life in the Old South,” writing that the “female
142 K. Graves

community of the female academy was the primary reference point for southern
schoolgirls” (p. 71). Jabour described the female friendships she studied as highly
romantic, perhaps erotic, involving physical displays and intense emotional connec-
tions. They enabled young women to find self-fulfillment in the form of academic
achievement and to develop a self-in-relation, all the while allowing for “a temporary
reprieve from the demands of conventional southern womanhood” (Jabour, 2007,
p. 76).
Women’s relationships with each other prompted college officials to consider the
social implications of building and campus design (Horowitz, 1984) and turned up in
popular novels and short stories in the 1890s and early 1900s on student life at
women’s colleges (Inness, 1994). Horowitz argued that the architecture of women’s
dormitories, enormous buildings where “room arrangements hid much from view,”
bedeviled college authorities trying to “curb an autonomous student life” (1984,
p. 68). Crushes and sexual relationships ran alongside political organization in the
gamut of behaviors that college officials hoped to contain. In her study, “Mashes,
Smashes, Crushes, and Raves: Woman-to-Woman Relationships in Popular
Women’s College Fiction, 1895–1915,” Inness argued that “these fictional crushes
can act as a barometer of changing social attitudes toward women’s
homoaffectionate relationships at the turn of the century” (1994, p. 49). Although
not a new feature of college life in the 1890s, crushes fell under more scrutiny after
the publication of Havelock Ellis’s “The School-Friendships of Girls” (1897) and “it
became increasingly difficult for people not to identify a homoaffectionate crush as
abnormal” (Inness, 1994, p. 53). Interestingly, Jeannette Marks adopted this stance
in an unpublished 1908 essay, “Unwise College Friendships,” (Faderman, 1981;
Wells, 1978) and revisited it in A Girl’s Student Days and After (1911). Inness
(1994) and Horowitz both argued that “the burgeoning of an independent student
culture at the women’s colleges of the 1890s” provoked more administrative control
(p. 55).
Margaret Gibson (1998) exposed a critical inconsistency in her study of the vast
medical literature of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries used to
dampen enthusiasm for women’s higher education. She noted a weak link in a series
of assumptions regarding perceptions of the lesbian intellect. As Gibson explained,
writers who assumed that masculine intellect was superior to feminine intellect, and
that lesbians were masculine, were left to conclude that lesbians possessed superior
intellect. This flew in the face of the notion that lesbians were degenerate. Gibson’s
argument provided fine-grain detail on how “the specter of an intelligent, sexually
deviant woman became a threat to the status of any ambitious woman” (1998, p. 87).
The medical classification of homosexuality that emerged in the late-nineteenth
century breathed new life into Edward Clarke’s earlier claims regarding women’s
education, masculinity, and degeneracy, especially as the schoolgirl crushes were
gaining more attention. These concerns reached the point that “even the desire of a
woman to attend college could indicate her latent or active homosexuality” to some,
a notion that persisted decades into the twentieth century (Gibson, 1998, p. 89).
Deborah Olsen (2000) found that heterosexual images took on strategic impor-
tance in promotional literature designed by Mount Holyoke, Smith, and Wellesley
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 143

Colleges to boost enrollment and donations during the late 1940s. As top-tier
institutions increasingly opened admissions to women in the post-war years, officials
at the women’s colleges looked for ways to “avoid association with such ‘radical’
ideas or traditions as feminism, ‘careerism,’ lesbianism, a separate women’s culture
or communities of women” (Olsen, 2000, p. 419). One of four techniques that Olsen
(2000) identified in the promotional literature was a “heavy reliance upon hetero-
sexual images, including frequent references to the presence of men on campus and
an emphasis upon the ‘feminine’ qualities of students” (p. 434). For instance,
photographs of male professors and students dating men became much more prom-
inent in fund-raising appeals. Presidents and professors took pains to distance their
colleges from “Ivory tower” references, leading Olsen to wonder if the wording
might have been code for communities of women. Statements assured potential
applicants that there was a good supply of single dormitory rooms, and one presi-
dent, for instance, was quoted as stating: “Wellesley’s ‘ivory tower’ has clear
windows and outward swinging doors” (as cited in Olsen, 2000, p. 435). The erasure
of lesbians, feminists, and academic communities of women that Olsen detected
through her examination of college promotional literature was certainly not as harsh
as the purges that would follow. Nonetheless, it proved an effective method of
bolstering heterosexual culture on campus. Rather than promoting ignorance of
lesbian sexuality directly, as a strategic ploy, this tactic was grounded in political
geography as described by Proctor in his important book on Agnotology (2008).
Sometimes ignorance results not simply from a vacuum of knowledge, or a more
direct suppression of information; it can also stem from a selective choice. Proctor
explained, “inquiry is always selective. We look here rather than there; . . .the
decision to focus on this is therefore invariably a choice to ignore that. Ignorance
is a product of inattention. . . .” (Proctor, 2008, p. 7). By mid-twentieth century, the
apparent presence of lesbian and gay people on college campuses was fading.
Douglas Shand-Tucci (2003) launched a bold attempt to recover, not just a gay
presence but a gay sensibility at Harvard, arguing that for over a century Harvard-
connected gay men had an inordinate influence on the shaping of American culture.
The work, written in a style that reflects the connections of an insider, relies upon
secondary sources, cultural and literary history, personal and relayed narratives to
produce a volume valuable for its many points of information regarding prominent
gay lives. Shand-Tucci articulated the challenge faced by the first generation of gay
historians: “Charting those currents, difficult to locate and sometimes thankless to
detect, powerful as they are, because they are so deeply hidden, is for me the most
worthy task of any historian alert to his calling” (2003, p. 5). He constructed his
thesis around archetypes represented by Walt Whitman and Oscar Wilde, the warrior
and the aesthete, “each an actual, indeed personal, presence in Harvard Yard in
historical time, each a key vector, as scholars of Proust might put it, in psychological
time ever since. . .” (Shand-Tucci, 2003, p. 11). Moving through chronological time
and the organizational structures of “home” and “away,” Shand-Tucci offers typol-
ogies centered, first, on the themes of pederasty, aristocracy, secrecy, and guilt; then,
politics, repression, rage, prophecy, and “a greater emphasis on sex” (2003, p. 176);
and finally, polemic, therapy, insight, and more sex. By the end of his 400-page
144 K. Graves

study, Shand-Tucci succeeds in making a case for a gay sensibility, asking “If,
indeed, there is a Harvard sensibility, or a Boston sensibility, or a Jewish or an
American or a Southern or a New York or a medieval or modern sensibility, or a
leftist or a rightist or a warrior or an aesthete sensibility—are there not also sexual, as
there are ethnic and vocational and period and regional and gender, sensibilities? Is
there not a gay sensibility” (2003, p. 347). What is less clear, is whether the impact
these subjects had on American culture was due to a gay sensibility rather than their
Harvard connections.
Other scholarship that has helped to establish the historical presence of LGBTQ
people in higher education utilizes surveys and oral history, drawing on interviews,
recollections, and personal commentary. Patrick Dilley’s study (2002, 2005) of
non-heterosexual college men from 1945 to 2000 is, perhaps, the best known of
this work. Queer Man on Campus is a qualitative typological study that makes use of
interviews, historical context (concentrated primarily in Chapter 6), student identity
development theories, and queer theory to understand how men “who do not identify
as heterosexual make sense of their lives in college” (Dilley, 2002, p. 4). Dilley
developed a typology of seven patterns of identity: three of these—homosexual
(1940s to 1960s), gay (1960s to present), and queer (1980s to present)—emerged
over time, he argues, while another four types—normal, closeted, parallel, and
denying—were evident across the scope of his study. As part of an effort to clarify
distinctions, Dilley explained, “Whereas a closeted student understood his identity to
be a secret, a homosexual believed his identity to be a private matter, and a gay
collegian conceived of his identity in social terms, a queer man found the very notion
of his identity to be public in nature and discourse” (2002, pp. 119–120). Dilley’s
use of the term “non-heterosexual” throughout invites confusion and critique on the
grounds that it implies a sense of inferiority that he does not intend. Rather, for him
the term serves as a signifier that the men he interviewed “uniformly conceptualize
[d] heterosexuality as a fixed, monolithic quality, . . .separate and distinct from their
own sexuality” (2002, p. 9). Historians of higher education are likely to be most
interested in the student narrative chapters that offer insight into perceptions and
memories regarding the campus environment, fraternities and gay student groups,
and sexual behavior, among other issues.
Anne MacKay’s (1993) anthology of lesbian and gay experiences at Vassar
College, Wolf Girls at Vassar, provides a rich source of 41 student recollections
representing students from the class of 1934 to the class of 1990. MacKay’s own
recollection, “Being Gay at Vassar,” was rejected by the Vassar Alumnae Magazine
in 1970, but when alumnae/i began organizing the Lesbian and Gay Alumnae/i of
Vassar College two decades later, the Vassar Quarterly was ready to publish a
different essay, “Breaking the Silence: A Message about Being Homosexual.” Both
pieces are included in an appendix to Wolf Girls (MacKay, 1993), a book that
records the responses MacKay received from Vassar alumnae/i wanting to share
their own recollections about life at college as a lesbian or gay man. In a brief
introduction MacKay addresses key themes that emerge from the recollections—the
ways in which students, their families, and college officials dealt with their sexuality;
the processes and time it took for women, in particular, to discover their sexual
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 145

identities; and a range of feminist perspectives that one might expect to find at one of
the Seven Sister colleges over the course of a few decades. MacKay (1993) then
provided a short overview of lesbian history at the college, discussing smashes and
Boston marriages in the early years, the joy women experienced in their new-found
independence, and administrators’ concerns when they found that only 409 of 1082
Vassar graduates had married by 1895 (p. 7). She described the 1930–1950 frame as
a period of silence, the 1950–1970 period as repressive, and identified the
1970–1990 decades with a resurgence of feminism. The introduction serves as a
fine frame for the recollections that follow.
E. Patrick Johnson incorporates a section on homosex at Historically Black
Colleges and Universities (HBCUs) in his 2008 collection of life histories of black
gay men of the South. John Howard adopted “homosex” as a term to delineate
“sexual activities of various sorts between two males” (1999, pp. xviii–xix). Based
on interviews with men who attended HBCUs in Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi,
North Carolina, and Tennessee, Johnson speculated that the universities may have
been more tolerant regarding homosexuality in the 1950s and 1960s than they are
today. He explained that, “regardless of an institution’s attitude toward homosexu-
ality, gay men create their own communities within a larger black student body.
Sometimes they are incorporated into the fabric of student life at an HBCU, and
sometimes they are cordoned off into their own discrete and discreet organizations”
(Johnson, 2008, p. 285).
While not a historical analysis, Toni McNaron’s Poisoned Ivy (1997) may be of
interest to historians concerned with tracing institutional change for lesbians and gay
professors in the last decades of the twentieth century. McNaron describes the study
as a hybrid report/narrative that incorporates insights from her 30 years of experience
as a lesbian professor at the University of Minnesota as well as findings from
304 questionnaires collected from lesbians and gay men who had worked for at
least 15 years in the academy. The resulting narrative presents higher education as a
space characterized by gradual change, with many institutions still holding to
unyielding prejudice against LGBTQ people. In the concluding chapter, McNaron
offers a case study of a liberal arts college in California as a model of integration and
equity. Looking to the future, she highlights accounts that underscore the point that a
successful academic life requires a sense of comfort with one’s self-identity. The
personal perspective that serves as a theoretical frame throughout most of the book
returns at the end with a force, as McNaron offers a clear visualization of the
“difficult place” lesbian and gay academics still occupied at the end of the twentieth
century: “We are asked to inhabit a middle ground between exhilaration and
watchfulness, between the beginnings of ease and the necessity for alertness,
between appropriate gratitude to colleagues and administrators who are working to
improve our environments and continued pressure on such people to do even more.
If we can manage this political and emotional balancing act, the academy will never
be able to go back to the dismal and cruel state scores of people like me found in
1964” (McNaron, 1997, p. 213).
While Dilley, Johnson, MacKay, and McNaron offer reminisces that aid histo-
rians in capturing elements of the past that shed light on the college experiences of
146 K. Graves

LGBTQ students and faculty, John Howard’s (1999) history of queer life in Missis-
sippi features personal narratives alongside other sources of the historian’s trade that
allow him to make observations about queer life in college. Similar to Johnson,
Howard found that “homosexual couples were frequently acknowledged—and
occasionally accepted” in the years after World War II (1999, p. 66). He notes that
the college environment—in the dorms, unions, and quads much more than in
classrooms—allowed for the kind of open, sometimes hostile, conversation that
increased awareness of homosexuality for queer and straight students alike. Faculty
were rarely heard from on the matter, and administrators throughout the region set up
stakeouts in campus restrooms from time to time to suppress homosexual activity. In
spite of this climate, Howard found that “male college students constructed worlds of
same-sex desire and intimacy, love and camaraderie” through “friendship ties, queer
residential quarters, campus cruising areas, and off-campus networks of house
parties and nightclubs” (1999, p. 69).
In the afterword to Lonely Hunters: An Oral History of Lesbian and Gay
Southern Life, 1948–1968, prominent gay rights activist Barbara Gittings reflected
upon the secrecy that enveloped LGBTQ life in the post-war years: “Lesbians and
gay men back then put a lot of effort into building their secret, good lives. They lived
in their small secret compartments which may have been fun inside, but they
couldn’t go beyond them. Exposing themselves put their world at risk. . . . The
problem, though, was not only in the price paid for this secrecy but that you didn’t
leave a good legacy for the next generation of gay people” (as cited in Sears, 1997,
p. 259). Gittings’ pre-Stonewall civil rights work was instrumental in launching the
gay rights movement that would embolden people to come out, and begin speaking
openly about their lives. The benefit to LGBTQ history was beyond measure.
Historians of higher education should take note. As interviews in oral history
collections are gathered to supplement archival records at colleges and universities,
the history of LGBTQ people in higher education will become increasingly visible.

4.2 The Purges

The story of Martha Dean is not part of official histories of UCLA. The fact that her story has
been forgotten and the extent to which it may have been deliberately erased raise significant
historical questions. The history of gay men and lesbians in colleges and universities in the
United States is only now being written, in large part because the evidence of their lives has
been suppressed, destroyed, or ignored. . . .These events took place more than fifty years ago,
but the questions they raise about civil liberties, the disciplinary effect of sexual norms, the
compliance of universities with those who seek to deny full civil rights to all, and the power
of the state to create a climate of suspicion and fear of those deemed ‘other,’ are still
powerful and important today (Weiler, 2007, p. 496).

In one of the earliest publications to address gay and lesbian purges at colleges
and universities, James Schnur (1992) placed his analysis in the context of academic
freedom. He was one of the scholars petitioning for public access to the records of
the Florida Legislative Investigation Committee (FLIC), one of several state bodies
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 147

formed in reaction to U.S. Supreme Court directives to desegregate schools. Schnur

captured the objectives of the FLIC succinctly: its purpose was to “investigate any
person or organization that violated customs and traditions preserving racial segre-
gation” (1997, p. 133). In 1992, Florida citizens approved a constitutional amend-
ment that expanded access to public records in the state, a change in law that made
FLIC records available for examination. Although historians had already studied
some political aspects of FLIC, known popularly as the Johns Committee (see, for
example, Lawson, 1989; Stark, 1985), access to the committee’s files revealed a rich
set of sources regarding systematic persecution of homosexuals during the Cold
War.3
Before the extent of the state’s purge of gay and lesbian students, teachers, and
professors was fully known, Schnur detailed the Johns Committee’s 1962 investi-
gation of the University of South Florida. The committee had descended on the
Tampa campus to investigate not only homosexuals, but also suspected communists
and professors who had assigned “questionable” texts. The investigation, an exercise
in blatant civil rights violations, was a fiasco and began to turn the tide of public
sentiment against the Johns Committee. USF President John Allen threw a wrench
into the FLIC investigative machinery by demanding that it conduct hearings in
public and tape record the proceedings. Allen was walking a fine line, trying to guard
institutional autonomy while avoiding the worst of the anti-intellectual actions of the
investigative committee and the Board of Control that maintained oversight over
higher education in the state. As Schnur (1992) reports, Allen could only achieve so
much through these compromising efforts.
One of the controversies involved newly hired assistant professor of English,
Sheldon Grebstein, who had assigned Norman Podhoretz’s “The Know-Nothing
Bohemians” to an advanced writing class. Although the essay had become a popular
text in universities across the country, Charley Johns demanded Grebstein’s dis-
missal for assigning “profane” literature that Johns deemed immoral. Allen
responded by suspending Grebstein, an action that provoked the academic commu-
nity in Florida into action. Individually and through the auspices of the American
Association of University Professors (AAUP), American Association of University
Women (AAUW), and USF alumni associations, faculty, students, and alumni
demanded that the basic tenets of academic freedom be honored. The Tampa branch
of the AAUW proved particularly effective in confronting the Johns Committee
(Graves, 2006). President Allen accepted a faculty committee’s recommendation to
rescind Grebstein’s suspension, but still censured the professor for failing to promote
“a proper moral tone” (Schnur, 1992, p. 13). Before the end of the year Grebstein
resigned to accept an academic post in New York. In an interview three decades
later, Schnur found that Grebstein recalled his encounter with the Johns Committee
as an “ennobling” experience, one that “alerted him to the precarious nature of the

3
Informally, FLIC was known by the name of State Senator Charley Johns, a co-sponsor of the bill
that established the committee and one of its most ardent members.
148 K. Graves

academy in American life” and reinforced the point that “the university community
must forever remain vigilant” (p. 14).
No evidence has surfaced to suggest that the gay and lesbian “witnesses” called
before the Johns Committee referred to their interrogations as ennobling. Early
analysis of the gay purge (Beutke & Litvack, 2000; Schnur, 1997; Sears, 1997)
described “Florida’s homophobic witch-hunts” as a “microcosm for cold war crack-
downs throughout the nation” (Schnur, 1997, p. 156). Schnur’s essay, “Closet
Crusaders: The Johns Committee and Homophobia, 1956–1965,” provided a com-
prehensive overview of the subject, from its original authorization as a legislative
body designed to suppress the civil rights movement to its demise in 1965. Regard-
ing its foray into higher education, the committee dispatched staff to the University
of Florida in 1958 to launch an undercover investigation of homosexuality; using
tactics of surveillance, entrapment, and intimidation, investigators pressured scores
of students and faculty to name others for the committee to interrogate. The initial
investigation set off an appropriations cycle in which the Johns Committee parlayed
its findings from the homosexual purge into biennial reports to the Florida Legisla-
ture, which voted to extend the committee’s authorization in 1959, 1961, and 1963.
The committee moved its operation from the campus at Gainesville and announced
that it was extending its investigation to encompass educational institutions through-
out the state.
Although the committee’s reckless swagger at USF triggered a critical shift in its
standing with the public, the critical blow to the Johns Committee came with its 1964
publication, Homosexuality and Citizenship in Florida. The committee had written
the report to expose the public to “the rapid spread and insidious aspects of
homosexuality” (as cited in Schnur, 1997, p. 150). The committee’s unsophisticated
analysis of homosexuality was accompanied by a glossary of sexual terms presented
in crude language and suggestive photographs. In a surprise to Johns Committee
members, the public was outraged that their tax dollars financed such a publication.
Committee member C.W. “Bill” Young, who would go on to become Florida’s
longest-serving member of the United States Congress (“C.W. Bill Young, Long-
time Florida Congressman, Dies at 82,” 2013), warned Floridians not to “stick [their]
heads in the sand” and defended what came to be known as the Purple Pamphlet by
adding, “The legislature has responsibilities to the public to expose these people who
have been preying on young people” (as cited in Schnur, 1997, p. 150). The
document intensified the national spotlight trained on the Johns Committee,
embarrassed their supporters, drew critique from quarters as diverse as the States
Attorney of Dade County and members of the Mattachine Society, and distanced
committee members from political colleagues. Schnur reported that the Johns
Committee began destroying some records, locked other records away in a closet,
and burned photographs that might discredit the committee’s work. Charley Johns
and others resigned from the committee after the release of the Purple Pamphlet, and
the Florida legislature did not extend the committee’s charter in 1965.
Sears (1997) addressed the history of the Johns Committee in two chapters in the
first of his oral history volumes on lesbian and gay southern life. Drawing from FLIC
records in the Florida State Archives, news accounts, and interviews, he narrated the
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 149

events from the perspectives of faculty and students caught up in the anti-gay
investigation. Sears’ summary was both concise and chilling: “During its reign of
terror against homosexuals, the Committee employed networks of paid informants,
plainclothes police, private detectives, and state administrators using interrogation
and entrapment, blackmail and harassment, innuendo and rumor, and threat and
intimidation to flush out the homosexuals. The institutional outcome was the dis-
missal, suspension, expulsion, or resignation of hundreds of university professors
and students, public school teachers, and administrators in Florida. Wrecked careers
and failed marriages, loss of self-esteem and reputation, suicide, alcoholism, and
drug abuse were some of the costs” (1997, p. 58).
Recollections from those involved, narrated decades after the Johns Committee
closed shop, render the significance of this history in vivid detail. One professor
described the experience as “a fearful time. Every waking moment—fear. Fear of
disgrace. Fear of losing my job. Fear of no money. It was awful. It was a horrible
experience. It was all conspiratorial; at times, I felt like I was in a chapter of a
Dostoevsky novel” (as cited in Sears, 1997, p. 75). A student recounted details
regarding her expulsion from Florida State University, describing a process that
became standard operating procedure. Summoned from history class, the student sat
across from the Dean of Women who began, “We have had a report that you are a
lesbian” (as cited in Sears, 1997, p. 89). The Dean went on—it will go on your
permanent record; expulsion was likely. In this case the student’s dorm mates signed
a petition to protest her expulsion and the Dean offered a chance to stay at school, as
long as the student met weekly with the school psychologist and accepted a
reassigned roommate selected by college officials. Much of this history is incorpo-
rated into Beutke and Litvack’s short documentary on the Johns Committee’s purge
of homosexuals, Behind Closed Doors (2000).
Within the last decade, three books and a new documentary film have been
produced on the Johns Committee. And They Were Wonderful Teachers (Graves,
2009) explores the Johns Committee purge of gay and lesbian teachers at the
elementary and secondary levels. Although teachers whose sexuality was questioned
or exposed were summarily dismissed across most of the twentieth century, Graves
argues that the intensity and scope of the Johns Committee purge set it apart from
other examples of anti-gay persecution. She provides a detailed analysis of how the
Johns Committee probed into the personal lives of members of a profession at the
center of American culture, and charts the transfer of oversight of schoolteachers’
sexuality back to the state Department of Education as the legislative mandate for the
investigative committee was waning. Unlike other historians who have written on
the Johns Committee, Graves explicitly situates this history in the context of
education history, making the argument that teachers, long perceived as guardians
of the dominant ideology, have been particularly vulnerable to anti-gay discrimina-
tion. This very fact makes the history of teaching a critically important element in a
broader view of LGBTQ history. To help secure this point, Graves contrasts
schoolteachers’ experiences with the Johns Committee with the experiences of
civil rights activists and the university investigations.
150 K. Graves

Communists and Perverts under the Palms (Braukman, 2012) is the most com-
prehensive study of the Johns Committee, tracing the committee’s trajectory from a
post-Brown stance of massive resistance to an all-encompassing defense of conser-
vative cultural values. Braukman places her work in the context of historical studies
on massive resistance, segregation, anti-communism, and homosexuality in order to
underscore the centrality of sexuality in the contested landscape of the mid-twentieth
century. She traverses this terrain with great skill, allowing readers to consider the
university investigations in light of other political struggles of the period. Braukman
explicitly framed her approach as “tak[ing] the committee at its word” regarding
their fears of political subversion and sexual perversion, in order to better “under-
stand the committee’s agenda and its supporters’ views of a changing world” (2012,
pp. 12, 15).
The most recent publication in the Johns Committee historiography, however,
constructs its narrative from the other side of the interrogation table. Judith Poucher
(2014a) selected five pivotal “witnesses” from the Johns Committee records and
examined their lives—before and after they encountered the committee—to identify
key characteristics that enabled them to resist unchecked state power. While the
individuals represent different areas of investigation the Johns Committee pursued
over its 9-year existence, three of the five provide insight into various elements of
higher education history. Virgil Hawkins was called before the committee because
he attempted to desegregate the University of Florida Law School. Sigismond
Diettrich, Acting Chair in the Division of Geography and Geology, was forced to
resign from the University of Florida as a result of the undercover investigation of
homosexuality. Director of Student Personnel Margaret Fisher did her best to guard
the integrity of the University of South Florida when she faced the Johns Committee
in 1962. While all of these individuals’ encounters with the Johns Committee have
been analyzed in previous work, Poucher adds depth and fresh perspective to the
story. The Florida Historical Quarterly featured a multi-part review of Johns
Committee scholarship, with Poucher (2014b), Graves (2014), Schnur (2014), and
Braukman (2014) commenting on each other’s work.
In 2012, a class of undergraduate students at the University of Central Florida
produced an award-winning documentary on the Johns Committee, produced and
directed by professors Robert Cassanello and Lisa Mills. Their film features inter-
views with two former students who confronted the Johns Committee at the Uni-
versity of Florida and Florida State University, as well as John Tileston, a retired
University of Florida police officer who assisted the Johns Committee in its inves-
tigations. PBS stations have aired the film, bringing the history of the Johns
Committee to a wider audience.
Shortly after scholarly publications on the Johns Committee began to surface, a
writer for The Harvard Crimson came upon a reference to “Secret Court Files, 1920”
in the Harvard University archives. Intrigued, the reporter sought permission to
review the files but was denied because they addressed student disciplinary matters.
A team of writers at the student newspaper persisted with the request, given that the
files at that time were well over 80 years old and, presumably, beyond the scope of
student records policies. The redacted files were released and Crimson staff set about
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 151

to uncover more details about Harvard’s Secret Court (Paley, 2002; Wright, 2005).
In relatively short time, the reporters constructed a clear outline of events concerning
the 1920 purge of homosexuals at Harvard. An editor at St. Martin’s Press
approached William Wright, biographer and Yale man, with the invitation to expand
upon the Crimson’s thorough coverage of the incident, leading to his 2005 publica-
tion. Similar to Shand-Tucci’s (2003) book on homosexuality at Harvard, Harvard’s
Secret Court was a narrative penned for a popular audience.
The arc of the story began with the May 1920 suicide of Harvard student Cyril
Wilcox. Wright constructed dialogue to take readers through the main elements: the
Wilcox family discovering Cyril’s body, his brother’s pursuit of the gay men at
Harvard who formed Cyril’s network of friends, family pressure on Harvard officials
to investigate. President A. Lawrence Lowell appointed a “Secret Court” headed by
Acting Dean of Harvard College Chester Greenough, and including University
Regent Matthew Luce, Head of the Department of Hygiene Dr. Roger Lee, Assistant
Dean Edward R. Gay, and Assistant Dean Kenneth Murdock. On 1 June, the
Harvard Administrative Board approved Lowell’s plan, already underway, to inves-
tigate, establish “guilt” of engaging in homosexual activity, and collect names of all
Harvard men involved (Wright, 2005). Rather than sully themselves with the task,
the Board let final arbitration rest with President Lowell. The Court’s main methods
of gathering information seemed to rely on a proctor taking note of activities and
names of students engaged in “suspicious” behavior in Perkins Hall, and following
up on information contained in an anonymous letter, signed only as “’21.” The
pattern of interrogation was to become a familiar one. More than 30 men were
summoned to appear before the Court, casting a net wide enough to include both
men who had engaged in sex with other men, as well as their friends and acquain-
tances. Men under interrogation “submitted to the most excruciating and intrusive
questions about their sexual histories with both men and women, the extent of their
friendships with other students, the degrees of involvement with town boys, the
sleepovers in off-campus apartments” (Wright, 2005, p. 53). The Court declared
14 men guilty, including five not affiliated with the college. One recent alumnus had
his Harvard record expunged as a result of his appearance before the Court, and an
Assistant Professor was fired. The Court classified the undergraduates in two
categories—those who were “confirmed” homosexuals and those who were “guilty”
by association; all were expelled. Two of the latter group were eventually readmitted
to the college, graduated, and went on to lead the kind of successful lives Harvard
expects of its graduates. In addition to Wilcox, two of the expelled students com-
mitted suicide and two others who appeared before the Court died early deaths.
Wright supplied intricate details of these cases and assessed the proceedings in light
of dominant moral and medical perspectives of the day. Finding Harvard guilty of
the “worst sort of ignorance,” Wright determined that the “ignorance and bigotry can
be explained and, to a degree, forgiven. The lack of compassion cannot” (2005,
p. 266).
While Wright presents Harvard’s “1920 antigay tribunal” as “a cautionary para-
ble of a powerful institution run amok,” (2005, p. 269), Syrett (2007) plumbed a
contemporary Dartmouth College case for an understanding of how homosocial and
152 K. Graves

rural spaces contributed to the growth of a homosexual community. Similar to

Wright’s study of Harvard, most of the evidence available to Syrett comes from
the college officials who were charged with punishing Dartmouth students who, in
the early 1920s, spent their free time in a house in an area of rural Vermont known as
Beaver Meadow. “[F]ree from the regulatory eyes of their faculty, they had parties,
stayed up late, drank alcohol, and had sex” (Syrett, 2007, p. 9). Syrett explained that
the men shared a couple of characteristics. Not unusual for the time at men’s
colleges, many of them regularly took the women’s parts in school plays. Also,
many of the students belonged to Epsilon Kappa Phi, a local fraternity in the process
of applying to the national Delta Upsilon fraternity. By 1925, two co-owners of the
house in Beaver Meadow had attracted suspicion, “accused of making a ‘parade of
their effeminacy’ and of having embraced an ‘aesthetic’ way of life” (as cited in
Syrett, 2007, p. 11). Shortly thereafter, Dartmouth students complained to President
Hopkins about the behavior of the students who partied in Vermont. Hopkins wrote
letters to the students’ advisors, directing them to step up their own oversight of the
group. He called the students to his office, and expelled one for violating
Prohibition-Era alcohol restrictions. Two recent graduates were beyond the Presi-
dent’s disciplinary reach but resigned their fraternity membership when asked to do
so. The president also consulted with psychiatrists and, beginning the next year,
Dartmouth College productions imported women to play female roles in the plays.
Syrett argues that this history is noteworthy because of the insight it provides into the
perceptions these men had of their own identities, “what we might understand as
queer” (2007, p. 12). And, unlike most LGBTQ history, the Dartmouth case offers
early evidence regarding the formation of queer identities in rural spaces. “How is
it,” Syrett asks, that “these men commandeered their fraternity for the purposes of
gay sex, queer socializing, and female impersonation” in the middle of the 1920s
when heterosexual behavior was increasingly engaged on college campuses (2007
p. 15)? He suggests the answer has to do with the range of definitions of masculinity
that were expressed in the different fraternities on campus, and the fact that
performing women’s parts in plays only became problematic when the action was
linked to emerging homosexual identities. While Syrett would go on to develop
these themes at length in his 2009 publication on fraternities, the story of the
Dartmouth men in the 1920s “suggests that there may well be many other gay
Arcadias yet to be found” in archives across the nation (2007, p. 16).
In “Under the President’s Gaze,” Gidney (2001) examined other forms of sur-
veillance of homosexual students. The focus of her analysis was a World War II
letter written by a male college student in Canada who had recently been released
from an internment camp. Gidney’s study explored the ways in which “religious
imperatives continued to inform evolving conceptions about morality and sexuality
well into the twentieth century” (p. 37). She did not provide names of the student or
his university, to preserve anonymity. During a period when immigration officials
vetted correspondence, a letter in which the student expressed a general appreciation
for the male body raised concerns. Of equal importance, evidently, were references
that suggested to officials that the student was lazy. “Concerned about the moral fibre
of the student,” the director of the Immigration Branch contacted the President of the
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 153

student’s university, who launched a secret investigation into the student’s character
(Gidney, 2001, p. 36). Gidney devoted much of the article to an overview of the
1941 Hazen Conference on religion and life, a gathering of faculty, presidents and
deans of women in Canada that provides both context and insight into how mid-
twentieth-century college administrators preferred to shape the conduct of students.
When the student was confronted with claims regarding his moral character, he
responded that his comments on the male body were of a general nature, and stated
that he had never engaged sexually with a man. He referenced his dates with women
as evidence of his heterosexuality and, thus, good conduct. The president followed
up with more inquiries and, finding it “almost practically impossible for a pervert,
who can be as often a medical case as a purely moral problem, to live in a men’s
residence for a year without giving rise to some suspicions,” dismissed the charges
against the student (as cited in Gidney, 2001, p. 53). Noting the confluence of
psychology, medical, and moral language in the president’s deliberations, Gidney
interpreted this case as further evidence that the university was a prime site for
production and regulation of sexuality and morality.
Brief accounts of gay purges appeared in early gay publications and the journal,
Radical Teacher (Tsang, 1977a, 1977b; Martin, 1994). The fullest treatment of an
individual case, and what it reveals about the disciplinary impact of sexual norms in
higher education, is Weiler’s (2007) analysis of Martha Deane’s forced retirement
from UCLA in 1955. Weiler chronicles the relative ease with which Deane, one of
only two women who were full professors at the university at the time, was
dismissed after nearly three decades at the university for the “crime” of “having
sexual relations with another woman in her own home” (2007, p. 472). This is not to
say that colleagues, students, and alumni did not support Deane. The Committee on
Privilege and Tenure voted to exonerate her, the Dean of the School of Education
expressed his complete confidence in Deane, and a group of women faculty met with
her regularly over the course of her suspension, donating $100 or so a month over the
3-year period while she received no salary.
Weiler’s account not only preserves a history of an accomplished educator; it
“illustrates the intertwining of Cold War hysteria, sexual anxieties, and homophobia
that characterized life in the United States in the early 1950s” (2007, p. 495). Like
other historians working in this field, Weiler found that evidence in this case was
“fragmentary and difficult to discover” (2007, p. 477). The structure of the essay
serves as a model for scholars working on similar projects, facing similar challenges.
Although the primary sources consisting mainly of administrative records and oral
histories provided few direct responses to why Deane was fired, they did reveal
“personal animosities, antagonism toward powerful women in university professor-
ships, and a fear of lesbian sexuality” that Weiler juxtaposed with the broader
context to produce a clear analysis (2007, p. 492). The expertly rendered narrative
ends with a piercing explanation of why this history matters: “Despite her efforts to
defend herself, her distinguished career, and the quiet support of her friends and
colleagues, in the end Martha Deane lost her job, a job which was more than just a
way to make a living, but was a central part of her identity. Although she
154 K. Graves

reconstructed her life, she never recovered her position as a professor, the center of
her intellectual life” (Weiler, 2007, pp. 495–496).
Nash and Silverman’s (2015) recent essay is a significant contribution to the
historiography on gay purges in higher education. They study three incidents in the
1940s in which students and/or faculty presumed to be homosexual were forced out
of the Universities of Texas, Wisconsin, and Missouri. As the authors point out,
there is “a small amount of existing literature on homosexuality and campus life,”
and none of that research examines “the immediate post-War period” (Nash &
Silverman, 2015, p. 442). This is a critical gap, as the “same unproven and irrational
accusations” made against others in the mid-twentieth century could not be pressed
against college students (Nash & Silverman, 2015, pp. 442–443). Unlike elementary
and secondary schoolteachers, college students were not burdened with society’s
expectations to serve as role models for children. Unlike employees of the U.S. State
Department, college students were not perceived as high security risks. In addition to
posing questions about the justifications college officials gave for purging gay and
lesbian students and faculty, Nash and Silverman are pushing the field to determine
the extent of gay purges at colleges and universities, as well as the ways in which gay
students resisted the charges leveled against them. In this piece, they re-establish the
nearly forgotten role of an anti-gay agenda in the firing of the President at the
University of Texas in 1944, a reminder to historians of the insights that can be
gained by taking another look at stories we think we know. They analyzed a
student’s argument for reinstatement to the University of Missouri, a campaign
that stands out from others in its demand for due process and critique of heavy-
handed interrogation techniques. One imagines that the expelled student hoped such
an argument, steeped in democratic discourse, might bend the decision in his favor in
a Cold War context. In another critical development, the authors traced a paper trail
from the University of Wisconsin to the University of Missouri to sketch an outline
of the new “administrative machinery” college officials developed in the 1940s to
deal with homosexual students. Importantly, this evidence points to a “sea change in
administrative responses to homosexuality on campuses between the ad hoc ‘secret
court’ of Harvard in the 1920s and the building of permanent administrative machin-
ery in the 1940s” (Nash, & Silverman, 2015, p. 458). By mid-century administrators
had established organizational structures that enabled a systematic approach to
removing homosexuals from campus.
Dilley (2002) traversed half a century of higher education history to illustrate the
various ways university officials have “exercised strict control over the sexual
mores” of students since World War II (p. 410). In this essay, he supplemented
interview data collected for his larger study Queer Man on Campus with memoirs,
archival documents, and case law to identify the range of policies and practices
utilized in universities across the United States to suppress LGBTQ identities on
college campuses. As Dilley summarized, in the period between 1940 and 1970,
students were expelled on the basis of “deviant,” “lewd,” or “homosexual” conduct;
suspicion of homosexuality; or, on the basis of association with homosexuals. Other
sanctions, such as notations on transcripts or officials’ refusal to write letters of
recommendation were imposed on LGBTQ students who were allowed to remain at
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 155

their universities. College officials engaged in covert methods of control, staking out
restrooms, for example, between 1940 and 1990. Prescribed therapy gradually began
to replace expulsions beginning in the 1950s and continuing through the 1970s. “On-
campus treatment became a method of controlling students’ concepts of how their
sexuality was a part of their lives, as well as allowing administrators a closer locus of
supervision over physical or social expressions of the students’ sexuality” (Dilley,
2002, p. 419). Opposition to student assembly and free speech emerged on the heels
of cultural changes in the 1970s, as students fought to organize on campus, followed
by legal battles to secure funding and equal recognition for their organizations within
student government. Dilley cautioned that, while this brief history of university
control of LGBTQ students can be read as progressing from exclusion to integration,
a more accurate reading acknowledges that “elements of control, regulation, and
even suppression play out in new ways and in new arenas” (2002, p. 427).

4.3 Organizing

Gay liberation offers revealing insights into the dynamics of social change, into how the
struggle of an oppressed group for recognition does not occur in a vacuum but is dependent
upon other forces at work in society (D’Emilio, 1992, p. 120).

Making Trouble (1992) provides a suitable starting point for a review of what has
been written on LGBTQ student and faculty organizations in higher education. This
collection of John D’Emilio’s essays and speeches written over the course of two
decades is infused with historical analysis, political argument, and autobiographical
reflection. The essays that constitute the section on the university in this book are, in
a sense, primary documents marking the emergence of gay liberation in the academy
as they were written by a key player in that movement. The historian’s perspective is
provided in D’Emilio’s introductory statements for each chapter. A brief overview of
some of the chapters illuminates critical guideposts in gay and lesbian organizing in
the academy.
D’Emilio wrote the introduction to the published proceedings of the first confer-
ence of the Gay Academic Union (GAU), held in New York City in 1973. The GAU
had branched off from the more radical Gay Liberation Front, an offshoot in the
movement that brought lesbians and gay men together to confront discrimination in
their work. The GAU had almost an accidental beginning, traced to an informal
gathering of gay faculty, graduate students, a writer, and a film director. The
meeting, as D’Emilio recalled, was transformative. “Exhilaration is, perhaps, too
weak a word. . . . We talked in highly personal terms of the difficulties of being gay
in a university setting, how we coped with being in the closet, if that was the case, or
what sort of reaction coming out had engendered. . . . Perhaps most enlightening,
however, was the discovery that our academic training, regardless of discipline or
particular research interests, allowed each of us to contribute something of sub-
stance, some insight, to the discussion” (D’Emilio, 1992, p. 121). In this essay,
D’Emilio devotes a good deal of attention to the intense debate on sexism that arose
156 K. Graves

within the gay liberation movement, indeed, within the GAU. Over the course of a
few meetings, the GAU passed a proposal to amend its statement of purpose, to
include as the first goal “to oppose all forms of discrimination against all women in
academia” (as cited in D’Emilio, 1992, p. 124). A second proposal, guaranteeing
women fifty percent of the voting power, was defeated but a compromise that
required equal gender representation in a steering committee was accepted. D’Emilio
remembers the tenor of the debate as “appalling,” noting, “sexism goes beyond
intellect” (1992, p. 124). The GAU conference was conceived as a means to increase
membership. It was, D’Emilio wrote at the time, “a resounding success. . . . Three
hundred gay academics, women and men, working together, sharing ideas, feeling
good, and proud to be gay” (1992, p. 127).
In 1983, Oberlin College held a conference to recognize the 150th anniversary of
its founding as the first coeducational institution in higher education and invited
D’Emilio to address issues regarding homosexuality in the context of celebrating
equal access to education. D’Emilio presented an overview of the brief history of
LGBTQ issues in higher education, with attention to student groups, faculty, and
scholarship. He noted that when the first gay student group organized at Columbia
University in 1967, the students all signed the membership roll using pseudonyms.
He remembered that students at New York University in 1970 had to occupy a
university building for a week just to move the administrative process needed to get
approval for a gay dance. Looking back at two decades of activism, D’Emilio
regarded “the spread of gay student groups and their victories in court
[as] important indicators of progress. These organizations provide critical peer
support for young women and men at a difficult stage in their coming out. They
also provide an opportunity to break down stereotypes among the majority student
population. In many ways, they serve as a training ground for lesbian and gay youth
who will later become proud advocates of gay equality in society at large”
(D’Emilio, 1992, p. 131). D’Emilio observed that gay and lesbian faculty were
slower to organize and had, thus far, experienced less success than students due to
discrimination in hiring and promotion. He acknowledged progress in the publica-
tion of gay and lesbian scholarship but added, “we are still at the level of tokenism,
and not simply because it takes a long time to research and write a book. The same
pressures that keep gay and lesbian faculty members in the closet also discourage
them, as well as graduate students, from doing work on homosexuality” (D’Emilio,
1992, p. 134).
This pressure was a theme D’Emilio returned to as part of a 1989 roundtable
published in the Journal of American History. The Organization of American
Historians (which in 2017 began awarding the annual John D’Emilio LGBTQ
History Dissertation Award) had assembled scholars who could speak to “the
ways the organized profession of American history has responded to the challenges
that people with different identities, commitments, and agendas have brought to
research and teaching in American history” (as cited in D’Emilio, 1992, p. 138).
D’Emilio reflected on the high stakes of his task, the transformational moment when
he embarked upon his dissertation study that would result in his ground-breaking
book, Sexual Politics, Sexual Communities (1983), the importance of strategizing
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 157

one’s moves in the field, and the reception of early scholarship in LGBTQ history as
“audience and author celebrated the product. To understand this reaction requires the
recognition that, at least in the 1970s and 1980s, the doing of gay and lesbian history
has been more than a form of intellectual labor (as it probably will be for some time
hence). It was transforming, for both the doer and the receiver, and in the social
context of those decades, inherently political. . . .[F]or my generation and for cohorts
both older and younger, the absence of self-affirming words and images and the
cultural denial of our very existence made any kind of history a profound, subversive
revelation” (D’Emilio, 1992, pp. 142–143). D’Emilio went on to address the signif-
icant difficulties under which the early research was produced—lacking institutional
affiliation and teachers’ salaries to support summer research, exclusion from grants
and fellowships, and difficulties getting access to primary and secondary resources.
He called upon professors to bring LGBTQ issues into the curriculum, realizing that
the content in our courses shapes the landscape of the profession for the next
generation of scholars.
Two of the chapters in Making Trouble (1992) address the emergence of gay and
lesbian studies in higher education. In 1989, D’Emilio gave a speech at the opening
celebration for the lesbian and gay studies department at San Francisco City College,
the first such program to be established in the United States. He took the occasion to
reflect upon his long friendship with the program’s inaugural chair, Jack Collins, and
placed this institutional step forward into the context of a politics of knowledge. “If
there is any lesson of the 1960s that remains engraved in my consciousness, it is that
there most definitely is a ‘politics of knowledge.’ The research we do, the questions
we ask, the results that we publish, and the courses that we teach all reflect a view of
the world, of our society, and of human nature. Our social characteristics, our values,
and the vantage point from which we gaze at society shape the conclusions we reach.
And the ideas that we put forward in print or in the classroom help to reproduce, or to
modify, or to subvert, the order of things. That makes the work of the university
political” (D’Emilio, 1992, 158). In 1989–1990, Pennsylvania State University
sponsored a series of lectures on gay and lesbian studies. D’Emilio gave the
concluding lecture, a talk in which he assessed the current state of the new field.
In this piece he briefly elaborated, again, on the politics of knowledge, the historical
context of the moment, the contours of the field as it was developing, and then
offered observations about strategic decisions that would have to be made as the
scholarship moved forward.
D’Emilio concluded the university section of his book with a three-page reflec-
tion on a theoretical insight that occurred to him at a 1988 graduation party for one of
his students, a gay man whose celebration, on the surface, looked quite typical. Here,
though, the assembled family and friends quite unassumingly accepted the gradu-
ate’s “gayness—not abstractly, but in the concrete form of his lover and his friends”
(D’Emilio, 1992, p. 178). This made the prominent gay historian realize that while
conscious, deliberate efforts at social change are absolutely necessary, the relatively
unremarkable actions of individuals as they go about their lives also make a critical
difference in the sweep of history. He imagined, “throughout the United States,
hidden from public view, equally profound changes are occurring in the lives of
158 K. Graves

countless numbers of people. It is not only a story of gay lives, but one that also
includes our families, friends, neighbors, and coworkers. The many, many instance
of coming out. . .are reweaving the social fabric” (D’Emilio, 1992, p. 178).
Robert Martin, one of the co-founders of the Student Homophile League (SHL) at
Columbia University, wrote in 1992 that “the historical memory of student groups,
with their rapid turnover, is notoriously short, but there is a great deal of which to be
proud” (p. 258). His memoir on this first gay student organization in the United
States is an important supplement to the analyses historians have written on college
gay and lesbian student groups. Martin explained how he and fellow student Jim
Millham adapted lessons they learned from Frank Kameny and members of the
New York branch of the Mattachine Society to organize the SHL at Columbia.
Martin envisioned that Columbia would be the founding chapter of a confederation
of gay student groups at colleges across the nation. After gathering a small group of
interested students, Martin and Millham enlisted the support of an important ally,
Chaplain John Dyson Cannon, described by Martin as “an Episcopal priest of great
courage, unshakable devotion to his ideals, wisdom and a gentle understanding of
the needs of gay students” (1992, p. 259). Chaplain Cannon would be dismissed
from Columbia 4 years later. Martin set up a meeting with university administrators
and counselors in fall 1966 to pitch the idea of the SHL. Kameny came up from
Washington, DC to address the group. Martin recalls a good deal of opposition.
The next step in the application process, however, presented a more direct
problem. The Committee on Student Organizations at Columbia required organiza-
tions seeking university recognition to submit a membership list. Since few people in
1967 were willing to identify themselves with a homosexual organization, the
student group functioned underground for a time, relying on funding from
Philadelphia’s Drum magazine, the West Side Discussion Group, and ONE’s
New York chapter. In retrospect, Martin noted that the underground period “gave
us valuable time to discuss issues, to formulate an ideology as it were, among
ourselves, to educate ourselves and work on group cohesion” (1992, p. 259). In
spring 1967, Martin approached student leaders of other student groups at Columbia,
asking if they would lend their names as pro forma members of SHL. This early
example of intergroup solidarity lifted the first gay student group in the nation off the
ground as SHL was formally recognized by Columbia University in April 1967.
Martin’s initial press release on SHL’s formation was virtually ignored for about a
week until the New York Times ran a story proclaiming, “COLUMBIA CHARTERS
HOMOSEXUAL GROUP;” (as cited in 1992, p. 260) then the news broke around
the world.
SHL’s objectives in the early years were to educate the campus, work for gay
rights, and provide counseling services to students. Martin reports that membership
ranged from 15 to 30 students, and was mixed in terms of orientations, gender, and
race. With little faculty support, SHL ran a series of dorm discussions, held forums
with invited speakers, and issued statements on various civil rights issues regarding
homosexuality. Martin claims an intellectual influence on what came to be known as
“gay liberation” 2 years later, after Stonewall, writing “Any historian of the ideas of
the gay movement who neglects the pioneering intellectual work of SHL has missed
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 159

a key element of gay history” (1992, p. 260). Soon other SHL chapters appeared on
the campuses of Cornell and New York University, and students established similar
groups at Boston area colleges, Rutgers, and the University of Minnesota. Martin
also makes a case that the Columbia SHL initiated the first gay demonstration in
New York. In 1968 the group prepared to attend the Columbia Medical School’s
panel discussion on homosexuality, and when word got out, the organizers of the
panel decided to limit attendance to medical students. SHL wrote position statements
for the event and, as they were distributing the flyers, medical students offered SHL
students their tickets. Martin recalls that, since every member of the audience had a
copy of SHL’s statement, the question-answer period was more on point than had
been expected. During the 1970s the SHL focus on political activism slipped away,
and was replaced with a different kind of energy—dances, parties, and dorm raps.
Beemyn (2003b) agrees that gay student activism at Columbia, Cornell, and other
universities “played a critical role in laying the groundwork that would enable a
militant movement to emerge following the [Stonewall] riots” (p. 205). Beemyn’s
analysis focuses, primarily, on the second SHL, founded at Cornell University in
May 1968. Although there was a gay social network at Cornell, most were not
willing to be identified with the SHL, even using pseudonyms, so student response to
Jearld Moldenhauer’s initial organizing efforts for a SHL chapter was slow and
cautious. Moldenhauer tapped Reverend Daniel Berrigan, associate director for
service at Cornell United Religious Works at the time, to serve as the group’s
advisor. The Cornell Scheduling, Coordination, and Activities Review Board agreed
to recognize SHL without the usual required membership list, and the small group
focused on increasing membership in the 1968–1969 school term. The Cornell SHL
emphasized it was not an all-gay group; indeed, it claimed more heterosexual
members in its first year than LGBTQ students. This inclusivity allowed some
cover for LGBTQ students who were reluctant to join for fear of being outed. As
SHL membership grew, so did division in the ranks over the objectives of the
organization. In its second year a split developed between those who wanted to
emphasize civil liberties and educational work and those who saw SHL as a social
group that nurtured gay culture.
The 1969 Cornell student uprisings and then the Stonewall Riot tipped the scale
toward a more activist SHL. The group formed alliances with Students for a
Democratic Society at Cornell and started running zaps, “sessions at which openly
homosexual people would answer students’ questions, trying to raise public con-
sciousness about homosexuality” (as cited in Beemyn, 2003b, p. 218). Activism
intensified in 1970 when the Cornell SHL changed its name to the Gay Liberation
Front (GLF), invited a banned speaker to campus, and led a successful protest at a
local bar against gay discrimination. When the police were called to the protest, one
official reportedly told the owner, “[y]ou can’t insult these people. You can’t just
refuse to serve them” (as cited in 2003b, p. 221).
Beemyn notes that by 1971, just 4 years after students at Columbia established the
first SHL, there were gay student organizations at more than 175 colleges and
universities in the U.S. These groups were significant players in the gay liberation
movement; by politicizing sexual identity and building ties to other political
160 K. Graves

movements, the student groups convinced many nongay activists and activist orga-
nizations to support gay rights, developing a progressive coalition whose legacy
continues today” (Beemyn, 2003b, p. 222). In addition, the students’ action made it
possible for more LGBTQ people to come out: “. . .[I]t was a historic moment when
the leaders of Cornell’s SHL dropped their use of pseudonyms, held open meetings
and dances, and began to speak publicly about their sense of pride in being gay. . . .
In no small way, these efforts contributed to the development of a large-scale
political movement in the years that followed” (2003b, p. 223).
Clawson (2013, 2014) examined the emergence of LGBTQ student groups in
Florida universities, giving particular attention to how LGBTQ and straight students
perceived the struggle for queer visibility. The first GLF chapter in the South was
established at Florida State University (FSU) in 1970. Similar to the approaches
taken by Martin (1992) and Beemyn (2003b), Clawson (2013) constructed the study
on the FSU student group through an analysis of the activities of its founder, Hiram
Ruiz. Clawson highlighted a queer pedagogical theme in this essay on the educa-
tional work carried out by college students in the gay liberation struggle, noting “[o]
ne of the most important components of the GLF pedagogy was to tell straight
people that they were expected to notice and speak about sexual minorities;” this
was, citing Audre Lorde, “a crucial component of ‘transforming silence into lan-
guage and action’” (as cited in Clawson, 2013, pp. 143–144).
Although the FSU student senate recognized the GLF in 1970, college officials
did not allow the group to use campus facilities. The GLF posted an ad in the college
newspaper, the Florida Flambeau, declaring their opposition to “‘all forms of
oppression whether sexual, racial, economic or cultural. We declare our unity with
and support for all oppressed minorities who fight for their freedom’” (as cited in
Clawson, 2013, p. 145). A group of university employees responded with a letter to
the editor of the Flambeau, protesting the printing of the GLF ad. They claimed its
publication threatened public safety and charged that the GLF advocated the viola-
tion of Florida laws prohibiting homosexual acts, still a felony in the state. The
Flambeau then refused to print a second ad by the GLF. Students in the Tallahassee
Women’s Liberation and the Malcolm X United Liberation Front responded by
supporting the GLF, and FSU student president, Chuck Sherman, charged that
refusal to print the ad violated the principle of free speech. In the meantime, Ruiz
and the GLF began meeting, first at Ruiz’s apartment and then on public space on the
FSU campus when Ruiz and his roommates were evicted for being gay. Clawson
documented various ways in which the GLF educated FSU and the broader com-
munity, and took note of how GLF members, themselves, were educated on trans-
gender issues. Clawson highlighted the educational legacy of this history, claiming
that the “GLF members engaged in a queer pedagogy that academia had not invented
yet. In their work, their visibility was their teaching, and their curriculum was the
opening of gay culture to the wider world” (2013, p. 147).
Clawson’s study (2014) of the University of Florida (UF) opened with a strong
articulation of its theoretical framework. Queer theory is an appropriate lens for this
analysis, Clawson explained, not only because it signals inclusivity and character-
izes the actions of the people in the study, but also because it reflects the intent to
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 161

“write a history that is queer,” that is to “focus on liberation, rather than privileging
assimilation as an end-goal,” to deliberately include “gender queer and trans peo-
ple,” and to acknowledge “the disruption of normalcy that comes with the inclusion
of queer issues in society” (2014, p. 210). In an argument driven by a thesis on
visibility, it was also important that Clawson offer a clear definition of “the closet,”
another contested term. Being in or out of the closet is not a binary proposition, the
author noted, citing Cris Mayo’s explication of the term: “a complex set of negoti-
ations, a complicated set of weighed consequences and benefits, as well as a way of
creating spaces for possibilities with others” (as cited in Clawson, 2014, p. 210).
Clawson argued that three particular developments were critical to the emergence
of queer student visibility at the University of Florida: a climate of campus protest
fueled by the Black freedom struggle and New Left politics; the American Psycho-
logical Association’s decision to remove homosexuality from its list of mental
disorders; and the development of the student affairs profession with its emphasis
on student wellbeing. The Independent Florida Alligator proved to be a rich primary
source in Clawson’s study. In 1970, UF student Julius M. Johnson, President of the
Gainesville branch of the GLF, began writing letters to the editor, arguing for
courses dealing with sexuality and the establishment of a GLF on campus. As a
Black man on a predominately white campus, Johnson understood the kind of
strategies that could be helpful to a student group with a relatively low profile. He
forged alliances between queer students and the Student Mobilization Committee
and the Young Socialist Alliance in the effort to marshal resources and gain
recognition and legitimacy for queer students. College officials denied the students’
request for a charter in 1971, but the students persisted with their educational
activities and civil rights demands. Clawson noted that, although the “university
had attempted to keep them invisible,” the students’ “increasing confidence and
desire to be seen and heard prevented the fulfillment of the university’s agenda”
(2014, p. 216). In 1974 the GLF demanded that the Board of Regents strike a
paragraph from its policy manual that explicitly defined sex deviation as immoral
behavior. The faculty senate voted to support the students’ demand, in part because
the university was operating under censure from the AAUP for a series of recent
firings in violation of academic freedom. Clawson detailed other evidence of the
Alligator fostering “a campus climate more conducive to queer rights through
keeping an editorial focus on queer issues” (2014, p. 218). In 1975 the GLF won
its campus charter at UF, after similar groups had been recognized at FSU and the
University of South Florida, and only after the group reorganized as the less radical
Gay Community Service Center (GCSC). As the GCSC took a more prominent
position on campus, it drew harsh attack from various quarters, including religious
opponents and fraternities. Between 1975 and 1982, the group reorganized again; the
University of Florida Lesbian and Gay Society gained, lost, and then recovered
valuable office space in the UF student union, through a series of petitions, protests,
and legal battles. Clawson’s study clarified “how important a role both queer bravery
and straight alliances can play in fostering a safe environment for queer people,” a
scholarly contribution to a more complete understanding of higher education in the
late-twentieth century (2014, p. 227).
162 K. Graves

Administrators at many universities refused to grant charters for gay student

organizations, a tactic that led to numerous legal challenges. Rullman (1991)
provided a brief overview of cases involving the University of New Hampshire,
Virginia Commonwealth University, Austin Peay State University, the University of
Oklahoma, Georgetown University, and the University of Arkansas, noting that
courts generally held that such action violates students’ First Amendment rights.
Reichard (2010) published an extended study of Associated Students of Sacramento
State College v. Butz, the first case in which free speech and association rights were
leveraged to claim LGBTQ students’ rights to organize on campus. The 1971
decision created precedent “enabl[ing] other gay and lesbian student organizations
to rebut efforts at preventing their organizing on campus with authority a court
decision could provide” (Reichard, 2010, p. 633). It is important to note, though, the
case was filed on behalf of the Associated Students of Sacramento State College
(ASSSC), the student governing body that had initially approved the Society for
Homosexual Freedom (SHF) petition for a charter. College President Otto Butz was
the one who vetoed the decision. In explaining the students’ decision to file the
lawsuit, ASSSC President Stephen Whitmore argued that the merits of the case
extended beyond the SHF; it involved “the right to freedom of expression, freedom
of assembly, and self determination” for all students (as cited in Reichard, 2010,
p. 652).
Reichard noted that the case was also significant in regard to another student
power movement, the challenge to in loco parentis. Toppling that longstanding
college doctrine struck another blow at the normative heterosexual campus climate.
Sacramento State students and faculty who fought for institutional recognition for
SHF had yet another impact on their community that reached beyond the legal
victory. Organizing the court challenge “helped transform what had been a mostly
underground off-campus ‘closed society’ into a visible and self-conscious
gay-liberation community” (Reichard, 2010, p. 634). Legal scholar Jane Schacter
observed that LGBTQ student activism for official recognition on college campuses
was a critical challenge to the “‘coerced gay invisibility [that] has historically been a
central part of gay inequality’” (as cited in Reichard, 2010, p. 674).
In two pieces published in Oral History Review (2012, 2016), Reichard discussed
the value of oral history in tracing evidence regarding the history of LGBTQ people
in higher education: “[P]art of the critical work of queer oral history is to provide a
unique view that challenges assumptions and addresses silences within the archival
record, including records produced by LGBTQ people themselves. Oral history, in
other words, provides a way to expand beyond the limits and silences of those
records, revealing what is behind the scenes of how queer historical texts were
produced” (2016, p. 101). This is an important methodological approach, he added,
particularly for transient groups of people such as LGBTQ students. Reichard’s
research on the Gay Student Union at UCLA and its newsletter, the Gayzette,
illustrated the power of combining oral history with archival research to provide
critical documentation of student organizing in California in the 1970s. He explained
in his 2012 essay how the triangulation of oral history with ephemera of LGBTQ
student groups can verify and enhance our understanding of both kinds of evidence.
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 163

As an article in the Sacramento State University student newspaper stated in 1978,

“A kiosk is an unequaled source of information” (as cited in Reichard, 2012, p. 40).
Beyond confirming the importance of flyers, posters, and student-produced news-
letters and newspapers for helping LGBTQ students find each other on campus, oral
histories “can transform such ‘visual traces’ of the 1970s queer student histories into
more substantive evidence of the social and political climate in which students lived,
went to school, and organized” (Reichard, 2012, p. 39).

4.4 Sex and Gender and Identity

Colleges and universities were often at the forefront of the struggles over the control of sex
(Bailey, 1999, p. 49).

In Sex in the Heartland, Bailey grounded her study of the late-twentieth-century

sexual revolution in Lawrence, Kansas not because it was “representative of
America’s experience,” but because seeing what happened between the coasts
illustrates just how fundamental the changes wrought by this social movement
were (1999, p. 5). Her research on the University of Kansas (KU) included
in-depth analysis of the post-World War II development in sexual science and the
ways deans of students responded to rising expectations for more explicit sexual
discipline of students. During this period, university officials who confronted homo-
sexuality embraced a psychotherapeutic form of control, adopted from military use
during the war. Bailey noted, “Even though it appeared that a system of moral
absolutes had been replaced by a much more flexible system of evaluation, the two
systems remained enmeshed, with new ‘scientific’ analyses often used to support the
old ‘moral’ claims” (1999, p. 54). However, Bailey noted, both the psychotherapeu-
tic form of control and a parallel system that reframed regulations concerning
students’ lives through curricular reform, would eventually collapse, due to the
ways in which these approaches undermined the authority of those implementing
the rules. “Students would challenge the system of rules about sexual behavior with
the very same arguments about responsibility and democratic citizenship that uni-
versity officials had used to buttress that system. The shift to psychiatric authority, in
contrast, did not offer students powerful tools with which to challenge that authority.
Instead, it created problems for the administrators and officials themselves by
introducing criteria for judgment about sexual behavior that made it difficult to
draw clear distinctions between ‘right’ and ‘wrong’” (Bailey, 1999, p. 50).
Bailey’s study of the GLF chapter established at KU in 1970 is an excellent
example of how local histories can inform our understanding of national movements.
She contrasted both the ideological claims and the evidence of work on the ground
by the GLF and various women’s organizations in Lawrence to explore the roles the
gay and women’s liberation movements played in the sexual revolution. Bailey’s
examination of the GLF’s battle to gain official university recognition at KU
exposed intricacies embedded in the struggle in rich detail, helping one appreciate
164 K. Graves

the extent to which university, state, and national politics set the context for this
struggle that would be revisited in campuses across the nation. It was nothing less
than “a story of the difficulty and complexity of effecting social change in a
democracy” (Bailey, 1999, p. 179).
Unlike gay and lesbian student groups at other campuses, the GLF at KU did not
splinter into political and cultural factions. As its court case for official university
recognition played out, the GLF continued to nurture a welcoming community for
LGBTQ people not only on campus and in Lawrence, but also reached LGBTQ
people throughout the region. Most noteworthy were the dances the GLF held at the
student union throughout the 1970s. Bailey observed that the “dances moved gay
liberation from abstract concept (First Amendment rights), from words (speakers,
seminars, rap groups), from private (what two people do in the privacy of the
bedroom) to a very public, embodied fact” (1999, p. 185). LGBTQ issues are central
to Bailey’s argument that the sexual revolution fundamentally changed what Amer-
icans think about power, identity, diversity, and gender.
Other historians have folded LGBTQ issues into broader arguments on gender
and higher education. Deslandes (2005) briefly addressed homosexuality as one of
the factors that challenged established gender norms in Britain, leading to what he
termed a crisis of masculinity for late-nineteenth-century Oxbridge men. He
referenced two cases at Cambridge and Oxford to document changes in disciplinary
systems that implicated “the marginalization of same-sex desire as a deviant cate-
gory of human sexuality” after passage of the 1885 Labouchere Amendment to the
Criminal Law Amendment Act. However, university privilege served more than
once to spare Oxbridge men from local prosecution. As Deslandes observed,
“Oxbridge regulations and statutes, extralegal devices that underscored the unique
and privileged position of these institutions in British society, constituted a peculiar
system of discipline that safeguarded the reputation of the university as much as it
punished” (2005, p. 112).
Friedman (2005) and Weber (2008) gave more attention to the topic, each
devoting a chapter to student sexuality in their analyses of higher education in
Russia, Great Britain and Germany. Friedman studied all-male universities during
the reign of Nicholas I to determine if educated Russians experienced changes to
prevailing conceptions of masculinity similar to those developments in Western and
Central Europe. Through an examination of student memoirs, diaries, and corre-
spondence, Friedman discovered that “close male friendship, nurtured within a
broader culture of European Romanticism, marked the coming of age experiences
of many students” and offered “a notion of masculinity, which included passionate
expression and emotional connection that was at odds with Nicholas’s call for
obedience and singular loyalty” (p. 75). Officials anxious to promote a particular
image of morality in Russian leaders increased their oversight of students’ behavior,
particularly in the wake of 1835 anti-sodomy legislation. In spite of regulations that
dictated distance between beds in students’ sleeping quarters and prohibited sleeping
together, the university disciplinary system was flexible, allowing second and third
chances to students who transgressed its boundaries. Friedman concluded that
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 165

“young men encountered, created, and negotiated multiple masculinities,” including

some romantic friendships that extended into adulthood (2005, p. 140).
Weber (2008) included a comparison of student sexuality at Oxford and Heidel-
berg in his study of the institutional cultures of the two universities. His larger thesis
was to challenge the popular notion that cultural differences in Britain and Germany
were a significant factor leading to the outbreak of World War I. Understanding that
the predominantly male universities, like military institutions, “produced and repli-
cated national elites,” Weber cast the universities as “schools of both manhood and
national identity” (2008, p. 139). Through a finely tuned analysis of sexuality in the
two student cultures, Weber challenged the easy contrast between a homoerotic
Oxford and a “very heterosexual” Heidelberg, finding evidence of homosexuality at
both institutions (2008, p. 143). And it was severely sanctioned in England as well as
Germany. Observing that “[a]ttitudes toward homosexuality do not shed a particu-
larly good light on either place even compared to earlier times,” Weber found it
doubtful that notions regarding student sexuality had much to do with diverging
senses of nationalism in the years leading to the Great War.
Syrett’s (2009) history of fraternities in the United States turns on the axis of
changing conceptions of masculinity. Membership exclusions based on class and
race have long determined who could claim the status of the fraternity man. By the
early decades of the twentieth century, women’s increasing presence on campuses
and their demands for political and social equality began to shape how the fraternity
man defined himself. At the same time, suspicions about homosexuality intensified
adherence to the heterosexual norm by which fraternity men gauged their masculin-
ity. As Syrett explained, “masculine men were understood to be heterosexual men;
they were defined not only in opposition to women but also in comparison to those
men who were thought to be like women: homosexuals” (2009, p. 5). In a chapter
titled “Democracy, Drinking, and Violence,” Syrett made a strong case that frater-
nity men running from the specter of homosexuality exploited women, in part, as a
means to validate their own heterosexual status. Syrett argued that this “was perhaps
the most decisive development in fraternities’ history,” given the long-term impact it
would have on other college students, “particularly women” (2009, p. 5).
Estes (2010) also examined connections between gender and sexuality in “The
Long Gay Line,” a historical analysis of the role of homosexuality at The Citadel.
Stepping into unexplored territory, Estes interviewed gay alumni of the Charleston
military institution, most not out to themselves while they were cadets. He found that
gay alumni resisted women’s enrollment at The Citadel with the same tenacity as
straight alumni, and that they relied upon similar definitions of manhood in defense
of their position. For gay alumni, The Citadel “built character, deepened a sense of
honor, and strengthened the bonds of brotherhood among men. Just as
important. . .The Citadel offered unassailable proof of manhood in society that
might otherwise doubt or deny it” (Estes, 2010, p. 47). One alumnus argued that
an all-male environment allowed more room for homosexual identities to emerge,
saying “There’s a real easy slippage from a co-ed setting into an enforced
heteronomativity or an enforced heterosexuality that can be subverted when one
166 K. Graves

has a single-gender kind of society” (as cited in Estes, 2010, p. 59). Others simply
seemed disappointed to see the single-sex tradition at the school end.

4.5 Conclusion

Although the bibliography upon which this study rests cannot claim to be exhaus-
tive, two points are evident. First, few books have been written that specifically focus
on the history of LGBTQ issues in higher education (Dilley, 2002; Dowling, 1994;
MacKay, 1993; Shand-Tucci, 2003; Wright, 2005). What we know of this history is
often gleaned from a variety of sources. Biographers and education historians have
incorporated LGBTQ themes into their biographical and institutional studies (Horo-
witz, 1984, 1994; Palmieri, 1995, Wells, 1978), and education historians who study
LGBTQ issues have incorporated higher education as it informs their work (Blount,
2005; Graves, 2009). In addition, historians who study LGBTQ issues have written
work that crosses over into higher education (Bailey, 1999; Braukman, 2012;
D’Emilio, 1992; Faderman, 1981, 1991, 1999; Howard, 1999; Johnson, 2008;
Katz, 1976; Poucher, 2014a; Sears, 1997), and those who focus on gender issues
in higher education have increasingly addressed sexuality in their studies
(Deslandes, 2005; Farnham, 1994; Friedman, 2005; Jabour, 2007; Syrett, 2009;
Weber, 2008). The balance of what we know about the history of LGBTQ issues
in higher education has been recorded in journals, much of it path-breaking work.
This raises a second observation: only four articles in this literature base appear in
history of education journals. The majority of essays on the history of LGBTQ issues
in higher education have appeared in a few anthologies and journals devoted to
research in women’s and queer studies, education, and history. Scholars, then, must
continue to read widely for a fuller sense of LGBTQ education history.
The academy is more welcoming of research in this underdeveloped field than it
was even a decade ago. Rather than a lack of interest in LGBTQ history on the part
of education historians or the editors of their presses, the current status may reflect a
broader problem in the academy, the diminishing institutional presence of education
historians, and regard for the humanities in general in higher education. If History
Departments and Colleges of Education offer fewer tenure-track lines to education
historians, then we face a similar dilemma as that confronted by the early gay
historians: too little institutional support in terms of teacher salaries and other
resources to maintain scholarly trajectories in LGBTQ education history.4 And
yet, a vast terrain of research is waiting to be explored, work that will benefit from
the training, talent, and insight of higher education historians.
Thankfully, we have advanced beyond the days when, as a matter of course,
archival crates were slammed shut on researchers studying the lives of LGBTQ

4
In “Gendering the history of education” (in press), Lucy Bailey and I made a similar point about
gender history.
4 The History of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer Issues in. . . 167

leaders in the academy. Biographers who study college administrators, professors,

and students are better positioned to consider the bearing a person’s sexual identity
might have had on how they perceived their world, and what they thought possible in
their work. With few exceptions (Beemyn, 2003a; Clawson, 2013, 2014), however,
we know very little about the college experiences of transgender students, faculty,
and staff —and bisexuals seem to appear only as the obligatory “B” in the acronym.
Again, with few exceptions (Clawson, 2013, 2014; Johnson, 2008), race analyses are
almost totally absent from this historiography. Some accounts address the ways in
which gay student groups collaborated with the Black freedom struggle (Beemyn,
2003b; Clawson, 2013, 2014), but much more work needs to be done on the
intersections between sexuality, race, and ethnicity.
A similar claim could be made for the need to know more about how gay student
organizations collaborated with, profited by, and distanced themselves from the
women’s liberation movement of the 1970s. Fleeting references appear in some
accounts (D’Emilio, 1992), and Bailey addressed the issue in her 1999 study at the
University of Kansas. It would be good to follow up at other universities to enhance
gender analyses of the early gay rights movement. Also, although women’s histo-
rians made substantial contributions to the early scholarship on the history of
LGBTQ issues in higher education, most of that work focused on the women’s
colleges at the turn of the twentieth century. Studies of coeducational colleges would
enrich what we know about women who loved women during that period—and men
who loved men, for that matter. That is, historians might expand their studies to
include various types of institutions beyond the Seven Sisters colleges, the Ivy
League, and colleges on the West coast. Clawson (2013, 2014) has taken the study
South, Bailey (1999) to the Plains, and Dilley continues to study colleges in the
Midwest. In addition to geographical diversity, we would do well to think about
LGBTQ issues at community colleges, institutions that serve a wider range of
students than the traditional 4-year college—perhaps an approach that would enable
us to understand more about an understudied population in LGBTQ history in
general. Colleges of education are intriguing sites of study, as well, for the insights
one might gain about progress, or lack thereof, regarding LGBTQ issues in elemen-
tary and secondary schools. And the work that Strunk, Bailey, and Takewell (2014)
have published on gay men in Christian colleges suggests that universities affiliated
with religious denominations provide rich contexts for historical studies on LGBTQ
issues in higher education.
Five areas of study might lend themselves to productive syntheses in works that
aim to deliver an overarching narrative of significant events in the queer history of
higher education. First, the combination of primary sources, access to interviews,
court cases, and a foundation of secondary literature can now support a comprehen-
sive historical analysis of the founding and struggle for recognition of LGBTQ
student groups. Michael Hevel is working on a legal history that analyzes this
trajectory and related arguments of free speech, the right to assemble, and intellec-
tual freedom.
In a second area of research, other studies might take up an examination of how
the student groups, once established, contributed to key political struggles in the
168 K. Graves

LGBTQ community: funding for AIDS research, overturning sodomy laws, fighting
for marriage equality and legal protections against discrimination in the workforce.
Related work might examine relevant university research and administrative policy
positions on these issues to gauge how involved university personnel have been in
these civil rights battles.
Third, as we gain more historical perspective on queer studies courses, programs,
and departments, scholars can explore these curricular developments in the context
of social justice movements and the shifting university landscape on the threshold of
the twenty-first century. Comparisons with other “new studies” of the 1960s and
connections to queer theory are likely to expand our knowledge of intellectual shifts
in the academy, competing conceptions of the purposes of the university, and
curricular politics at the turn of the twenty-first century.
Two other areas of study reach back to the mid-twentieth century and, thus, are
less likely to be aided by oral histories. As scholars continue to collect evidence of
homosexual purges across the nation and the secondary literature base expands, a
comprehensive treatment of the university purges during the Cold War would
advance not only higher education history and LGBTQ history, but political history
as well. And it is surely the case that there is more to know about the connections that
Bailey (1999) began to draw between professional student personnel and the psy-
chotherapeutic control of students. One of the points she noted was that male and
female deans appeared to address this aspect of their work in different ways. Kelly
Sartorius (2014) is beginning to explore the gendered dynamics that characterized
deans’ responses to reports regarding students’ sexuality.
Jonathan Katz’s faith that, someday, the necessary elements would align so that
LGBTQ history could take its rightful place in the chronicles of American history
has been sustained. LGBTQ history is a legitimate field of study in higher education
research, scholarly production over the years has benefitted from cooperative efforts
to collect and curate precious primary sources, and scholars representing a range of
academic backgrounds have contributed to a secondary literature base that has
established some foundational principles and opened new questions for further
inquiry. In short, the history of LGBTQ issues in higher education has a place in
the academy. Having passed through four decades of research and debate, LGBTQ
history is no longer “rough at the edges,” but perhaps it will always be “radical at
heart” (Katz, 1976, p. 8).

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Chapter 5
Reassessing the Two-Year Sector’s Role
in the Amelioration of a Persistent
Socioeconomic Gap: A Proposed Analytical
Framework for the Study of Community
College Effects in the Big and Geocoded
Data and Quasi-Experimental Era

Manuel S. González Canché

5.1 Introduction

The public two-year or community college sector remains one of the most contro-
versial segments of the U.S. higher education system (Brand, Pfeffer, & Goldrick-
Rab, 2014; Dougherty, 1994). On the one hand, these institutions are often criticized
for lower rates of degree and credential production despite the fact that they enroll
close to 50% of all undergraduate students in the U.S. higher education system
(AACC, 2016; González Canché, 2012) while having access to significantly fewer
monetary and non-monetary resources (e.g., fewer financial resources, fewer full-
time faculty, and fewer students for whom the pursuit of a higher education
credential is a full-time endeavor) than their public four-year higher education
counterparts (AACC, 2016; Delta Cost, 2012). On the other hand, the community
college sector is also viewed as potential mechanism toward closing the persistent
socioeconomic gap in the United States by providing an entry point to higher
education to a significant portion of all first-generation in college, low-income,
ethnic minority and under prepared students (Brand et al. 2014).
Notably, despite its controversial status, federal (e.g., Complete College Amer-
ica), state- (e.g., Tennessee Promise1), and city-level (e.g., San Francisco tuition-free
plan2) initiatives often call upon community colleges to meet market demands for
college graduates. This continued emphasis on the community college sector as both

1
http://tnpromise.gov/about.shtml
2
http://money.cnn.com/2017/02/10/pf/college/san-francisco-free-community-college/index.html

M. S. González Canché (*)

University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 175

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_5
176 M. S. González Canché

the prominent entry point to higher education for underrepresented students and a
source of economic growth by policy- and decision-makers, justifies the study of the
effects of this sector on students’ educational, occupational, and financial outcomes.
Such an analysis is needed to better inform current and future policy decisions.
Accordingly, this chapter assesses whether the community college sector can be
conceptualized as a way of attaining U.S. economic goals, ameliorating persistent
academic and socioeconomic gaps, or both.

5.2 Purpose

The purpose of this chapter is threefold. First, it provides a comprehensive and

systematic review of extant research on the educational and occupational outcomes
associated with community college attendance. This literature review prioritizes (but
is not limited to) comparisons of outcomes attained by students who began college
enrollment in the public two- and four-year sectors. The second purpose is to provide
a critique of this line of research concerning its methodological rigor by highlighting
the emergence of analytic applications that deal not only deal with systematic
differences between two- and four-year entrants but also are capable of handling
big-data issues (e.g., fitting on “noise” or overfitting3). As part of this purpose, an
innovative analytic framework is provided for researchers and practitioners to utilize
when dealing with comparisons of these student populations. Finally, the third
purpose is to apply the proposed analytic framework to analyze a topic that, while
timely and relevant, has remained virtually undiscussed in the study the two-year
sector effects. Specifically, this section analyzes the effect of initial two-year sector
enrollment on undergraduate loan debt accumulation comparing different enrollment
pathways and levels of education attainment.
To address this comprehensive purpose, the chapter is comprised of three main
sections. The first section provides a description of the origins and role of the
community college sector in the United States. It then analyzes and critiques over
50 years of research on the sector effects of community colleges on students’
outcomes. This section depicts observed differences between two- and four-year
students and highlights the importance of accounting for these differences before
estimating the effects of the two-year sector on students’ outcomes. The second
section proposes an analytic framework that researchers and practitioners may use to
compare the effect of beginning college in the public two-year sector as opposed to
other sectors of the U.S. higher education system. This section pays close attention to
the availability of big and geocoded4 data at the institution, state, and geographic-

3
Overfitting occurs when a model is excessively complex, such as having too many parameters
(Harrel, 2015; Zhao et al., 2011).
4
Geocoded data are the result of identifying the intersection between latitude and longitude
coordinates on the earth’s surface. The result of this identification process can take the form of a
5 Community College Effects 177

level and the manners in which analyses of two-year sector effects should proceed in
order to minimize issues of self-selection, confoundedness, and omitted variable bias
that have permeated previous research. Sections one and two are mapped out in
Fig. 5.1, which presents a visual summary of the effects of the community college
sector on educational and occupational outcomes along with recommended policy
and methodological plans of action. Specifically, Fig. 5.1 begins by showing the two
comparison aspects that guided the literature review presented (effect of community
college attendance on educational and occupational outcomes) along with the
findings and conclusions reached in these two sections of the manuscript. In addi-
tion, the figure also contains the questions addressed in the discussion section and
next steps and/or plans of action, which offer both methodological implications and
practical recommendations that emerge from the literature review presented herein.
The third and final section, entitled “Community College Effects on Undergrad-
uate Loan Cost of Attendance,” applies the proposed analytic framework presented
in the second section. Specifically, this framework is exemplified in an investigation
of the affordability of the community college sector, focusing on its effects on the
accrual of student loan debt, a financial outcome that has remained understudied in
the literature (González Canché, 2014a, 2014b). As such, this section emphasizes the
timeliness and importance of analyzing the effect of initial two-year sector enroll-
ment on undergraduate loan debt accumulation by comparing different enrollment
pathways and levels of education attainment. The final section of the chapter
discusses challenges and opportunities in the use of big and geocoded data in higher
education policy along with future lines of research that involve the use of Geo-
graphical Network Analysis (González Canché, 2018) to assess the effects of place
in the analysis of factors affecting community college students’ outcomes, a topic
that remains understudied. Finally, the chapter reassesses the role of the community
college sector in (re)producing socioeconomic mobility opportunities in the United
States.

5.2.1 Section 1: Previous Research on the Community

College Sector and Its Outcomes: A Brief History
of the Origins and Role of the Community College
Sector in the U.S.

Since their very inception in the early 1900s, public two-year institutions, junior or
community colleges, were conceptualized as institutions serving their local commu-
nities (Clark, 1960b; Cohen, 1987; Vaughan, 1995). Indeed, these institutions were

point (e.g., an institution), a polygon (e.g., a county or state), or a line (e.g., a river). Once this
information is stored, analysts can use geocoded data to generate maps using geographical infor-
mation system procedures, and/or to conduct more inferential analysis using spatial statistics or
spatial econometric analyses (see more at González Canché, 2014a, 2014b, 2017a, 2016, 2018).
 178

Fig. 5.1 Summary of the overall structure of the effects of community colleges on education and occupational outcomes and potential actions
M. S. González Canché
5 Community College Effects 179

initially designed to offer programs attached to high schools as 13th and 14th years
of formal education (Garrison, 1975; Helland, 1987). Even though an official high-
school-to-college connection is no longer observed among community colleges
today, it is worth noting that their original association with high schools created
some confusion about the role of community colleges in the U.S. higher education
system. This situation led some authors like Clark (1960b) to state that “[t]he junior
college is a school whose place in education is by no means clear and whose
character has been problematic” (p. 2). Similarly, other authors pointed out that,
given their purpose to serve local school districts, these institutions would be
unlikely to contribute to an increase in the quality of the postsecondary education
system or the meaningful formation of human capital (Hofstadter & Hardy, 1952;
Riesman, 1956).
The role of the community college in U.S. higher education has clearly evolved
over time. For example, before 1910, these colleges were charged with offering
education beyond high school to students who did not want to attain a bachelor’s
degree. By the turn of the 1920s, these institutions began to parallel the work of the
first two years of coursework offered at four-year colleges. Because of this similarity
in coursework, two-year institutions began to be conceptualized as colleges that
educated students who could transfer out to the four-year sector in their “junior
year,” or third year of college (Spindt, 1957).
The first and second World Wars (WWI and WWII, respectively) were two of the
most important events to trigger the expansion of the community college sector in
the U.S. (Vaughan, 1995). In 1915, there were only about 19 two-year institutions
nationwide with a total enrollment that did not exceed 600 students. After WWI, not
only did the number of institutions grow exponentially, reaching 178 colleges
serving 45,000 students, but also and perhaps just as importantly and naturally, the
role of these institutions began to diversify (Cohen & Brawer, 2003; Vaughan,
1995). Notably, a large portion of the enrollment increases at community colleges
were composed of returning WWI veterans who enrolled in this sector part-time and
often had no intent to transfer to the four-year sector (Radford, 2009). This socio-
political context, then, meant that these institutions attracted students who only
aspired to the 14th year of formal education. With respect to WWII, the
Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944, most commonly known as the G.I. Bill,
provided a range of benefits for returning WWII veterans that included cash pay-
ments of tuition and living expenses to attend high school, two-year colleges, or
four-year colleges and universities. At least two interrelated factors helped to shape
the college choice of returning WWII veterans and drove them to select the two-year
sector. The first was that four-year colleges and universities during the 1940s were
primarily viewed as institutions reserved for the privileged and elite (Arendale,
2011; Turner & Bound, 2003), and the second was the emergence of admissions
officers at four-year institutions who served as gatekeepers and “dissuad[ed] casual
shoppers, and focus[ed] on the kinds of students that their universities wished to
attract” (Palmer et al., 2004, p. 11). Given the open admission policy characteristic of
two-year colleges, returning veterans who did not intend, aspire, or possess the
academic preparation to attend a four-year institution before WWII considered the
180 M. S. González Canché

two-year sector to be an attractive educational option, particularly given that they

received payment while receiving a college-level education (Phillippe & González
Sullivan, 2005; Turner & Bound, 2003).
The G.I. Bill not only represented a key factor in the further expansion of the
two-year sector but it also contributed to the broadening of their “array of vocational
programs [. . .] offered in order to accommodate returning soldiers to prepare for jobs
and ease their reentry into a peacetime economy” (Phillippe & González Sullivan,
2005, p. 2). Based on this renewed demand, by 1947 the number of two-year
institutions reached 328, and welcomed a total of 500,000 students (Vaughan,
1995; Celis, 1994). Another important event that shaped the mission and history
of community colleges in the U.S. was the publication of the Truman Commission
Report in 1947 (Zook, 1947), officially entitled “Higher Education for American
Democracy,” which enabled the creation of a network of community-based colleges,
thus strengthening these institutions’ missions to help their local communities. This
report was so influential that it led many two-year colleges to include “community”
in their names. It is clear that public two-year institutions were formed to serve their
local communities and that this political and social context was instrumental in
shaping the type of students that this sector has traditionally served.

5.2.1.1 The Contemporary Community College

More recently, the public two-year sector has become one of the most important
engines of human capital formation and economic growth in the United States. More
than half of all students attending college in the U.S. higher education system
complete at least their first year of college at a public two-year institution (Horn &
Skomsvold, 2011), and data from the Integrated Postsecondary Education Data
System (IPEDS) reveal that at least 84% of all part-time, degree-seeking students
attend the public two-year sector (IPEDS, 2013). It is clear that community colleges
are unique institutions in terms of the student populations they enroll, which can be
viewed as a reflection of their historical commitment to providing multiple pathways
of access to higher education, especially among first-generation in college (i.e.,
neither parents or guardians attended college), ethnic minority, low-income, and
academically under-prepared prospective college students (Brand, Pfeffer, &
Goldrick-Rab, 2014; Dietrich & Lichtenberger, 2015; Goldrick-Rab, 2010;
Melguizo & Dowd, 2009; National Center for Education Statistics,
U.S. Department of Education, 2013). The attraction of students with the character-
istics just listed to the community college sector is not random. On the contrary,
community college is an appealing option for many of these students, particularly
during tough economic times, because it requires a smaller initial financial invest-
ment compared to other higher education options. In fact, according to the American
Association of Community Colleges (AACC), tuition and fees in the community
college sector have always been, on average, a third of the amounts charged by
public four-year institutions (AACC, 2016), and only one tenth of the tuition and
fees charged by private not-for-profit four-year colleges (IPEDS, 2014). Moreover,
5 Community College Effects 181

given that a large proportion of community college students are already employed
(AACC, 2016), the community college sector has an immediate impact on the
U.S. labor force. As such, the skills and knowledge developed in this sector are
likely to be an effective strategy for closing the socioeconomic gap between low- and
high-income groups in the U.S. by providing low-income students with the means to
increase their salary prospects through education at an affordable price.
Despite the set of characteristics just described, many of which community
college advocates highlight when touting the role of this sector as an equalizing
engine (Astin, 1985; Leigh & Gill, 2003; Melguizo & Dowd, 2009; Rouse, 1995),
community colleges continue to be among the most controversial and criticized
institutions of higher education (Brand et al., 2014; Dougherty, 1994; Goldrick-Rab,
2010). Researchers have long argued that community colleges consistently play an
active role in the reproduction of inequality in American society by diverting
students from the attainment of a four-year degree (Brint & Karabel, 1989; Clark,
1960a, 1960b; Dougherty, 1992; Karabel, 1986). In spite of these serious accusa-
tions, this sector has become a major player in college completion agendas, which
aim to make the U.S. the country with the highest proportion of college graduates in
the world (Cook & Hartle, 2011; Horn & Skomsvold, 2011; Shear, 2010;
U.S. Department of Education, 2015). Notably, as competition for science, technol-
ogy, and economic development tightens globally, the production of well-prepared
college graduates is of increasing importance to any country aspiring to compete
worldwide. Clearly then, an analysis of the empirical evidence of the effects of the
community college sector on student educational and occupational outcomes has
become increasingly necessary in order to assess whether community colleges can
be conceptualized as a way of achieving the goals of the U.S. college completion
agenda, the amelioration of a persistent socioeconomic gap, or both.

5.2.1.2 Previous Research on Community College Effects

This section analyzes research findings regarding the effect of community colleges
on their students’ educational and occupational outcomes.
Method Followed to Identify the Literature Analyzed To address the first pur-
pose of this chapter, an extensive literature review of research published primarily in
the most influential American peer-reviewed journals focused on higher education
issues, along with other publication outlets such as books, reports, and dissertations,
encompassing comparisons of students’ outcomes was conducted. The methodology
employed was based on the approach proposed by What Works Clearinghouse
(WWC) Procedures and Standards Handbook Version 3.0 (2014) and consisted of
a comprehensive and systematic search of published literature examining the impact
or effects of community colleges on educational and occupational outcomes. Based
on the ample nature of the study, no specific time criterion was selected when
conducting the literature search. Consequently, the resulting literature review
spans more than 50 years. The leading journals in the field of higher education in
182 M. S. González Canché

the U.S. (The Journal of Higher Education, The Review of Higher Education, and
Research in Higher Education) along with journals with a high impact factor in
education (Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, Economics of Education
Review, Teachers College Record), and journals and outlets specialized in commu-
nity college issues (Community College Review and Community College Journal of
Research and Practice) were the primary peer-reviewed sources. A review of
doctoral dissertations was conducted through ProQuest Dissertations and Theses
Database. Policy briefs and reports were searched using the Community College
Research Center, MDRC, Achieving the Dream, Center for Analysis of
Postsecondary Education and Employment, and JBL Associates. In addition, the
list of electronic databases consulted included the following: Academic Search
Premier, SocINDEX with Full Text, Campbell Collaboration, Dissertation
Abstracts, EconLit, SAGE Journals Online, Education Research Complete, Scopus,
EJS E-Journals, WorldCat, and ERIC.
It is worth noting that the results obtained through specific journal websites
overlapped to a great extent with those from the list of electronic datasets listed
above. To avoid redundancy and due to space limitations, the first eight rows of
Table 5.1 summarize the findings from the literature search conducted across
academic journals. The first column of Table 5.1 contains the specific web address
for each journal. The second column of this table indicates the key words used in the
literature search. These key words rendered a given number of documents that were
potentially relevant for this literature review. It is worth mentioning that some
journals required the use of specific search criteria. For example, given that at the
time of the search The Journal of Higher Education did not have a standalone
website, its results were provided through JSTOR and required the inclusion of the
journal’s JSTOR ID to delimit the search. Given the comprehensive and systematic
nature of this search process, the keywords used to search academic journals’
websites did not include the words effects, impact, outcomes, penalty, or gap, but
only accounted for the sector’s name of interest as follows: “two-year colleges” OR
“community colleges” OR “2-year colleges.” This review approach successfully
excluded sources that did not involve the study of community colleges. Each
potential document was reviewed starting with the abstract, or the entire document
if there was no abstract, to determine if the study met the inclusion criteria described
below.
Another important source of documentation was identified by analyzing the
reference lists of articles that met the inclusion criteria. This step led to the identi-
fication of studies that were published in journals and by think tanks different from
those mentioned above. When a prolific researcher was identified, her or his name
was used in the search criteria. Whenever possible, original sources of secondary
data were utilized to depict the general scope of the community college sector in the
U.S. national postsecondary education system. These sources included IPEDS, the
U.S. Department of Education, and the Digest of Education Statistics.
Inclusion Criteria Documents that compared community college students’ educa-
tional outcomes with four-year students’ educational outcomes were included in the
5 Community College Effects 183

Table 5.1 Search criteria and website information of main academic journals included
Number
of Articles
Source Search criteria matches selecteda
The Journal of Higher Education (“two-year colleges” OR “commu- 710 7
http://www.jstor.org/action/ nity colleges” OR “2-year col-
showPublication? leges”) AND jid:(j100225)
journalCode¼jhighereducation
The Review of Higher Education (two-year colleges OR community 138 5
http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/ colleges OR 2-year colleges)
review_of_higher_education/
Research in Higher Education (“two-year colleges” OR “commu- 530 6
http://www.springer.com/gp/ nity colleges” OR “2-year col-
leges”) AND (journal no. 11162)
Then select “online content”
Community College Journal of (two-year colleges or community 533 2
Research and Practiceb college or 2-year colleges,
http://www.tandfonline.com/ keywords ¼ Effects)
action/doSearch?pageSize¼10&
pubType¼journal&
AllField¼two-yearþcolleges%
2Cþcommunityþcolleges%
2Cþ2-yearþcolleges&join_
AllField¼AND&join_
Title¼AND&join_
pubTitle¼AND&join_
Contrib¼AND&join_
PubIdSpan¼AND&join_
Abstract¼AND&
Keyword¼effects&Ppub¼&
content¼standard&target¼default
Community College Review (two-year colleges or community 222 2
http://crw.sagepub.com/search/ college in abstract or 2-year col-
results leges in abstract)
Economics of Education Reviewc (“two-year colleges” OR “commu- 273 8
http://www.sciencedirect.com/sci nity colleges” OR “2-year
ence/journal/02727757 colleges”)
Teachers College Recordc 270 5
http://www.tcrecord.org/
Educational Evaluation and Policy 16 6
Analysisc
http://epa.sagepub.com/
(continued)
184 M. S. González Canché

Table 5.1 (continued)

Number
of Articles
Source Search criteria matches selecteda
Google, Google Scholar, refseek “Community college comparison” OR “two-year colleges
comparison”, “community college effects” OR “two-year
colleges effects”, “impact of community colleges” OR
“impact of two-year colleges”, “baccalaureate gap”,
“cooling-out function”, “community colleges and attain-
ment gap” OR “two-year colleges and attainment gap”,
“community college wage penalty” OR “two-year colleges
wage penalty”, “community college occupational out-
comes” OR “two-year colleges occupational outcomes”,
“community colleges educational outcomes” OR “two-year
colleges educational outcomes”
a
See selection criteria in the literature review methodology section
b
For this journal, the search criteria, as implemented in all previous journals, rendered 200,098
results. As such, the search criteria were modified to include the term “effects.” This link accounts
for more than one journal source
c
These journals were searched using the same search criteria

current analysis. Regarding occupational outcomes, comparison groups were broad-

ened to allow for the inclusion of high school graduates, community college
graduates, students with community college credits, four-year graduates, and stu-
dents with four-year credits. It is worth noting that the literature concerning two-year
effects on educational outcomes has also compared the effects of different types of
two-year institutions on students’ outcomes. The findings from these types of studies
are included as a subsection of the section discussing community college effects on
educational outcomes.
Exclusion Criteria Documents that analyzed factors associated with successful
transfer and eventual attainment of a four-year degree were excluded from this
literature review as this synthesis of the literature has already been conducted
(Goldrick-Rab, 2010). No documents were excluded based on publication date.
Additionally, in order to avoid dealing with an unmanageable number of documents
and reports, the review of online search engines (e.g., Google, Google Scholar) was
more limited than the review of the journals as shown in Table 5.1. The last row of
Table 5.1 contains the key words used in the decision tree for selecting articles and
descriptors using these sources. The review of these documents and reports followed
the same procedure employed in the inclusion/exclusion criteria described above.
Results from the Literature Review This section accounts for the main findings of
the literature review and is organized into three main parts. The first subsection
describes findings that document observed differences between two- and four-year
students and the second and third subsections present findings on educational and
occupational outcomes of community college students, respectively.
5 Community College Effects 185

Two- and Four-Year Students’ Attributes and Characteristics Considering their

more affordable tuition and fee prices and their open-door admission policies,
community colleges tend to attract students that, compared to four-year entrants,
generally exhibit weaker academic preparation for college, tend to have access to
fewer social and financial sources of support, and consequently have lower expec-
tations about their realistic possibilities of attaining a baccalaureate college degree
(Berkner, Choy, & Hunt-White, 2008; Doyle, 2009; González Canché, 2014a,
2014b; Long & Kurlaender, 2009; Stephan, Rosenbaum, & Person, 2009). For
instance, Berkner et al., (2008) reported that, based on data taken from the Beginning
Postsecondary Students Longitudinal Study (BPS), 81% of the total 2003–2004
students who first enrolled in a four-year institution expected to attain at least a four-
year degree. For two-year students, this percentage was 9.8%. Similarly, using data
from the National Educational Longitudinal Study (NELS), González Canché
(2014a, 2014b) found that even when only considering full-time students, 95% of
initial four-year entrants and only 68% of community college entrants expected to
attain a four-year degree or more. The most recent dataset documenting student
transitions into and out of college (Education Longitudinal Study [ELS]) shows
similar results with 96% and 71% of first-time, full-time four- and two-year entrants
expecting to attain a four-year degree or more, respectively. These differences in
access to social capital, financial resources, and four-year degree expectations are an
important source of bias if studies attempting to capture community college effects
on four-year degree completion do not account for the ways in which these
pre-college disparities influence students’ outcomes regardless of sector of enroll-
ment. For example, before making inferential claims, analyses should consider that
for many community college students, a four-year degree is not part of their
academic goals.
Notably, even when community college students aim to pursue a four-year
degree, they very often exhibit characteristics that put them at risk of dropping out
of the educational system altogether. In a comprehensive report about community
college students participating in NELS:1988, Hoachlander, Sikora, and Horn (2003)
found numerous characteristics that placed community college students at risk of
dropping out of high school and college. These factors included single-parenthood,
having a parent with no high school diploma, limited English proficiency, earning a
combined family income less than $15,000, having a sibling who dropped out of
high school, delayed enrollment between high school graduation and postsecondary
entry, part-time attendance at first institution, high school completion via a certificate
or the GED, working full time when first enrolled, having children at a young age,
being a single parent, or having been alone at home more than 3 hours a day while in
high school (Hoachlander et al., 2003, pp. 52, 60).
With these general descriptions of two- and four-year college students in mind, it
is worth asking whether studies comparing the educational and occupational out-
comes of two- and four-year students have accounted for the fact that, on average,
four-year students have had better opportunities in many aspects of their lives. More
specifically, one may ask, assuming that four-year students indeed realize better
186 M. S. González Canché

outcomes than their two-year counterparts, would these differences in outcomes hold
even if four-year institutions suddenly started admitting the type of students that the
two-year sector has traditionally served? In other words, are these outcome differ-
ences simply a reflection of unequal starting points in terms of the socioeconomic
well-being characterizing students who begin college in the two- versus the four-
year sectors? From this point of view, as Astin (1985) questioned, is it really fair to
blame and/or criticize community colleges for inferior outcomes vis-à-vis their four-
year counterparts given that these public two-year institutions are receptive to all
kinds of students, regardless of their academic and financial backgrounds?
As the preceding discussion illustrates, the comparison of two- and four-year
colleges’ effects on any type of outcome without first accounting for the self-
selection inherent in their student bodies (Leigh & Gill, 2003; Long & Kurlaender,
2009; Melguizo & Dowd, 2009; Stephan et al., 2009) may not render the best
possible unbiased results. According to Heckman (1979) self-selection “bias results
from using non-randomly selected samples to estimate behavioral relationships”
(p. 153). He goes on to explain that when there are expected benefits from partic-
ipating in a program or treatment (in this case, sector of initial college attendance), it
is usually the case that these non-randomly selected samples are systematically
different and that participants tend to not be given the same opportunities to
participate in alternative preferable programs (Heckman, 1979). Consequently, any
attempt at estimation merely accounts for past differences that drove self-selection in
the first place rather than identifying unbiased estimations of the outcomes that
resulted from participation in a particular educational program (or treatment condi-
tion). In the context of this chapter, this issue can be found in at least two scenarios.
In the first, four-year students self-select into the four-year sector as a result of a
rational choice process (G. S. Becker, 1962) based on the believed greater benefits,
both professional and economic, that four-year colleges may bring when compared
to two-year colleges (i.e., better income and better quality of education). In the
second, the structure of the higher education system motivates four-year institutions
to purposefully filter applicants and select the most capable candidates in terms of
their probabilities of success and their ability to pay the costs of tuition, fees, and
living expenses (Slaughter & Leslie, 1997; Slaughter & Rhoades, 2004). These two
scenarios are not mutually exclusive; rather, they intermingle, resulting in a pool of
four-year students that is systematically different from participants that were either
denied admission to four-year institutions or decided not to enroll there. Accord-
ingly, the self-selection issue implies that four-year students are more likely to come
from upper-socioeconomic-class backgrounds with more types of support, including
those that are social, monetary, and morale-boosting, than their two-year
counterparts.
Given the likely presence of self-selection bias issues regarding the estimation of
educational and occupational outcomes as a function of two-year enrollment, the
following two subsections exploring literature related to the educational and occu-
pational outcomes of the community college sector will pay special attention to the
methodologies, analytic techniques, and samples of students that have been used to
conduct these comparisons. Tables 5.2 and 5.3 summarize the literature on educa-
tional and occupational outcomes, respectively, as reported next.
Table 5.2 Summary of the impact of two-year enrollment on the likelihood of four-year degree attainment
Authors Method Data Scope Operationalization Findings
Dougherty Review of literature National Longitudinal Study National One stage, naïve Logistic or Decreases in the 11.4% to
(1992) (1975–1990) based on Logit (1972), and High School and and institu- Probit regression 18.7% range across studies
and Probit regressions Beyond (1980), other surveys tional level
whose scopes were not
national
Rouse (1995) Instrumental variables High School and Beyond National Instruments: College accessi- Decrease of around 11% and
(1980) bility captured by average one less year of college
5 Community College Effects

in-state tuition at public two- enrollment

and four-year colleges and Due to large standard errors
distance from those colleges these negative effects did not
reach traditional levels of
statistical significance.
Gonzalez and Instrumental variables High School and Beyond National Same instruments proposed Decrease of around 34% and
Hilmer (1980) by Rouse (1995) but models 77% for Hispanics and Afri-
(2006) estimated by these authors can Americans, respectively
were disaggregated by eth- similar to rouse, due to large
nicity (Hispanic, African standard errors, these nega-
American, and White) tive effects did not reach
statistical significance.
White participants in the
two-year sector had an
increase of 1.8% compared
to white participants first
attending the four-year
sector.
(continued)
187
 188

Table 5.2 (continued)

Authors Method Data Scope Operationalization Findings
Alfonso Instrumental variables and National Education Longitu- National Same instruments proposed Compared to four-year stu-
(2006) an extension of the Heck- dinal Study (1988) by Rouse (1995) dents, two-year entrants
man (1979) two-stage sam- experienced a decrease of
ple selection model 30.5% in likelihood of
BA/BS degree attainment
without accounting for final
degree expectations, and a
decrease of 21.4% when
accounting for expectations
of college degree.
Sandy et al. Oaxaca decomposition National Longitudinal Study National The Oaxaca decomposition The probability that students
(2006) (1972), Beginning enabled authors to separate with two-year characteristics
Postsecondary Student student and institutional completed a bachelor’s
(1994), High School and components affecting the degree if they attended four-
Beyond (1992) probability of graduating year institutions is 0.735 in
from a four-year college. the National Longitudinal
Study specification, 0.436 in
the high school and beyond,
and 0.373 in the beginning
postsecondary student.
These results suggest that
not even four-year institu-
tions may be able to help
two-year entrants.
M. S. González Canché
Stephan et al. Propensity Score Matching National Education Longitu- National Controlled for propensity to Two-year entrants experi-
(2009) dinal Study (1988) enroll in the four-year sector enced an average decrease of
and used this propensity to 23% in their likelihood of
reduce baseline differences BA/BS degree attainment
compared to similar four-
year entrants.
Doyle (2009) Propensity Score Matching Beginning Postsecondary National Two stage approach: First Enrollment in a community
and Cox proportional haz- Study (1996) Propensity Score Matching to college lowers the hazard
ards model control for baseline indicators rate to 0.68 of its baseline
and then a Cox proportional value, indicating that com-
5 Community College Effects

hazards model in order to munity college students

accurately model the inher- have a hazard rate of 0.32.
ently time-dependent process This hazard rate translates
of degree attainment into probabilities of surviv-
ing that are 15% lower after
6 years of enrollment com-
pared to initial enrollment in
the four-year sector
(15% ¼ 1-[¼(1-EXP
(0.32*6))]).
Long and Propensity Score Matching Administrative dataset of State level Instruments: Distance from Decrease of 15% using the
Kurlaender and Instrumental variables students in the Ohio public student’s home to the closest instrumental variables
(2009) higher education system two-year college and the dis- approach, and 21% using the
tance to the closest PSM approach
non-selective four-year
university
(continued)
189
Table 5.2 (continued)
190

Authors Method Data Scope Operationalization Findings

Reynolds Propensity Score Matching National Education Longitu- National Models were disaggregated Results of restricted sample
(2012) dinal Study (1988) by gender and, in a subset of indicate a reduction of 23%
analyses, students enrolled in for males and 25% for
selective four-year institu- females
tions and students without
expectations to attain a four-
year degree were removed.
Wang (2014) Propensity Score Matching Beginning Postsecondary National Emphasis on STEM Decrease of 35.6% in the
and Path Analysis model Students (2004) The author relied on propen- probability of a typical stu-
sity score matching to bal- dent completing a bachelor’s
ance the data on observed degree or persisting in four-
characteristics and then used year STEM fields after
this balanced data to estimate 6 years
a path analysis model.
Brand, Propensity Score Matching High school graduates of State level Tested for effect heterogene- Decreases of 5.4%, 9.43%,
Pfeffer, and Chicago Public Schools ity by conducting propensity and 35.5% when comparing
Goldrick-Rab score matching analyses two-year students versus
(2014) where the comparison groups enrolling at: non-selective,
were separated into the fol- selective, and very selective
lowing categories: not four-year colleges,
attending college within one respectively
year of high school gradua-
tion, attending a non-selective
four-year college, attending a
selective four-year college,
and attending a highly selec-
tive four-year college
M. S. González Canché
Table 5.3 Summary of the Influence of two-year enrollment on students’ occupational outcomes
Authors Comparison Sample Scope Method Outcome Findings
Smart and Four-year students National Longitudinal National 2  3 multivariate Job status, No differences in the out-
Ethington Study (1972) analysis of covariance stability, comes of two- and four-
(1985) (mancova) and year students
satisfaction
Whitaker Four-year students National Longitudinal National Ordinary least squares Income and Students initially enrolling
and Study (1972) job status in community colleges had
Pascarella levels of occupational
(1994) prestige and earnings that
5 Community College Effects

differed in only trivial and

non-significant ways from
their counterparts who ini-
tially enrolled in four-year
institutions.
Kane and Four-year students National Longitudinal National Ordinary least squares Wages and Similar returns to earned
Rouse Study (1972) & National annual credits at two- and four-
(1995) Longitudinal Survey of earnings year colleges regardless of
Youth (1972) graduation
High school graduates Students who attended a
two-year college earned
about 10% more than indi-
viduals without any col-
lege education.
Lin and High school graduates National Longitudinal National Ordinary least squares Income and Compared to no college,
Vogt (1996) Study (1972) job status attending a two-year insti-
tution was associated with
higher income and job
status.
For African American stu-
dents, community college
191

(continued)
Table 5.3 (continued)
192

Authors Comparison Sample Scope Method Outcome Findings

attendance rendered no
statistically significant
differences.
Sánchez, Community college stu- California Community Col- State Descriptive statistics Earnings There is a positive rela-
Laanan, and dents at different levels of leges and the Employment level about median annual tionship between formal
Wiseley credit attainment Development Department's earnings education and earnings. As
(1999) Unemployment Insurance students complete more
education, they increase
the likelihood of
experiencing greater gains
in their post-college earn-
ings. Greatest payoffs are
related to completing a
vocational certificate or
associate’s degree com-
pared to attainment of a
few credits.
Grubb High school graduates Not applicable National Review of the literature Earnings Most estimates show that
(2002) individuals who complete
associate degrees earn
about 20% to 30% more,
with estimates for men
being somewhat lower
than those for women
compared to high school
graduates.
One-year of coursework
(without completing a
degree) at either a two- or a
four-year college increased
M. S. González Canché
 an individual’s earnings by
about 5% to 10%.
Gill and Four-year entrants National Longitudinal National Two-equation frame- Salaries Four-year graduates who
Leigh (2003) Study of Youth (1972) work to account for began college in the
selectivity bias two-year sector attained
similar wages to their
counterparts who began
college in the four-year
sector.
Marcotte, High school graduates National Education Longi- National Ordinary least squares Earnings Compared to high school
5 Community College Effects

Bailey, tudinal Study (1988) education, community col-

Borkoski, lege education has positive
and Kienzl effects on earnings among
(2005) young workers. This effect
was indeed larger for
annual earnings than for
hourly wages. Earnings
benefits accrued both to
those who failed to earn a
credential and to those who
earned an associate degree.
Jacobson High school graduates Administrative records in State Descriptive statistics Earnings Provided evidence of the
and Mokher Florida level benefits of attending com-
(2009) munity colleges compared
to completely dropping out
of the postsecondary edu-
cation system after high
school in terms of salary
These benefits remained
across different types and
levels of schooling.
193

(continued)
Table 5.3 (continued)
194

Authors Comparison Sample Scope Method Outcome Findings

Marcotte No college enrollment, National Education Longi- National Ordinary least squares Wage and Compared to no college
(2010) two-year enrollment (certif- tudinal Study (1988) yearly education, credits and
icate, associate’s degree, salary degrees at both two- and
bachelor’s degree) four-year colleges rendered
significant results, espe-
cially for women.
Academic and vocational Among two-year students,
credits attained at two-year there were no differences
schools, credits attained at in terms academic and
four-year schools vocational credits attained.
Belfield and High school students Not applicable State Literature review Earnings, Strong evidence of signifi-
Bailey level health, cant gains from attending a
(2011) crime, and community college versus
welfare high school education
reliance Literature on health, crime,
and welfare reliance is very
limited and potentially
offers an important area for
further research.
Jepsen et al. Community college stu- Administrative data from State Panel-data models Earnings Among two-year entrants,
(2012) dents at different levels of Kentucky level students with associate’s
attainment: Associate’s degrees and diplomas have
degree, diploma, or higher returns compared to
certificate those with certificates even
after controlling for differ-
ences among students in
pre-college earnings and
educational aspirations.
M. S. González Canché
González Four-year entrants National Education Longi- National Propensity score Annual No significant differences
Canché tudinal Study (1998) matching, Heckman salaries in annual salaries after
(2012) 2-stage control function accounting for observed
and unobserved differ-
ences in the analytic sam-
ples given two-year
enrollment status
Dagdar and Two-year entrants at differ- Washington state: Longitu- State Individual fixed effects Wages Earning an associate’s
Trimble ent levels of education dinal college transcripts and level model degree leads to positive
(2014) attainment unemployment insurance increases in wages in prac-
5 Community College Effects

records for students who tically any field, compared

entered a Washington state to earning some credits but
community college in not attaining a credential.
2001–2002
González Two- and four-year entrants Survey of Doctorate Recip- National Propensity score Annual Scientists who began col-
Canché who attained a Ph.D. in ients (1995–2008) weighting, instrumental salaries lege in the two-year sector
(2017a) STEM fields variables with dynamic had lower salaries and less
panel data models salary growth over the
10-year period observed.
195
196 M. S. González Canché

Community College Effects on Educational Outcomes The empirical question

guiding the studies summarized in Fig. 5.2 and Table 5.2 is: “What is the effect of
beginning tertiary education in the two-year public sector on the attainment of a four-
year degree compared to the effect of having started college in the four-year sector?”
Note that Table 5.2 summarizes the type of analysis employed, the scope of the
analytic sample (e.g., state, national), the main operationalization procedures (e.g.,
sample disaggregation, two-state approaches, instruments used), and magnitude of
the main findings reported. Another common characteristic of the studies shown in
Fig. 5.2 is that their authors presented the results in terms of probability changes,
with the exception of Doyle (2009) who estimated changes in hazard rates. These
hazard rates were translated into survival probabilities for the purposes of this
literature review.
As noted in Table 5.2, researchers have used different types of data to explore the
effect of community colleges on educational attainment. Some relied on longitudinal
data gathered by the U.S. National Center for Education Statistics, while others used
state-level data, and others relied on administrative records and/or institutional data.
The analysis of community college effects can be separated into two main periods,
the pre-quasi-experimental and quasi-experimental design eras. The pre-quasi-
experimental design era, which ignores issues of self-selection, took place between
1992 and 2005 whereas the quasi-experimental design period, which began
correcting for self-selection issues, started in 2006.
It is worth noting that all the estimates presented in Table 5.2 and Fig. 5.2
consistently rendered negative effects of two-year enrollment on the attainment of
a four-year degree, and that these effects remained despite the introduction of
sophisticated quasi-experimental approaches, such as the use of instrumental vari-
ables (Alfonso, 2006; González & Hilmer, 2006; Long & Kurlaender, 2009; Rouse,
1995), propensity score matching (Brand et al., 2014; Doyle, 2009; Long &
Kurlaender, 2009; Reynolds, 2012; Stephan et al., 2009; Wang, 2014), and other
non-quasi-experimental but still sophisticated analytic techniques such as Oaxaca
Decomposition (Sandy, González, & Hilmer, 2006). Indeed, the combined estimated
average reduction in the probabilities of attaining a four-year degree for community
college entrants was 28.4% (s.d. ¼ 19.2%) across studies. This finding indicates that
across samples, decades, and scopes of the inferences reached, researchers have consis-
tently found that students who began college in the two-year sector were less likely to
attain a bachelor’s degree than their counterparts who began college in the four-year
sector, even after controlling for self-selection issues among participants across sectors.
Figure 5.2 is restricted to reporting the main magnitudes presented in the studies
reviewed in Table 5.2. For example, Alfonso (2006) reported likelihood of bachelor’s
degree attainment with and without accounting for students’ expectations to attain a
four-year degree. Accordingly, the corresponding section in Fig. 5.2 contains two bars
for Alfonso’s findings. In some cases, there is only one main finding reported (see
Doyle, 2009; Rouse, 1995: Wang, 2014). In this view, a more meaningful understand-
ing of Fig. 5.2 is achieved through a closer examination of Table 5.2.
5 Community College Effects 197

Average Decrease In Probabilities of Four-year Degree

Attainment Due to Initial Community College Enrollment
(mean decrease across studies=28.4%, sd=19.7%)

Brand, Pfeffer, and Goldrick-Rab (2014) 35.5

5.4 9.4
Wang (2014) 35.6

Reynolds (2012) 2325

Long and Kurlaender (2009) 15 21

Doyle (2009) 15
Stephan, Rosenbaum, and Person (2009) 23
Sandy, González, and Hilmer (2006) 37 44 74
Alfonso (2006) 21 31
González and Hilmer (2006) 34 77

Rouse (1995) 11
Dougherty (1992) 11.4 19

0 10 20 30 40 50 60 70 80 90

Fig. 5.2 Summary of the two-year sector effects on BA/BS degree attainment, where the higher the
bars, the lower the chance of four-year degree attainment given initial two-year enrollment. The
number of bars, indicates number of main models estimated in each study

Diverging Approaches to Measuring Community College Effects Before moving to

findings related to community college enrollment and occupational outcomes, it is
worth noting that there is a subset of studies of two-year sector effects on educational
outcomes that can be classified in two types. The first type consists of studies that
compare the academic outcomes of community college students who transferred to
the four-year sector (termed “rising juniors”) with outcomes of rising juniors who
began college in the four-year sector (Dietrich & Lichtenberger, 2015; Melguizo,
2009; Melguizo & Dowd, 2009; Melguizo, Kienzl, and Alfonso, 2011; Monaghan &
Attewell, 2014). In most of these studies, the authors relied on propensity score
methods to account for self-selection bias (except in the cases of Melguizo and
Dowd (2009) who manually matched participants in their analytic sample and
Melguizo (2009) who restricted the sample to Hispanics and used OLS models)
and found that rising juniors who started college in the two-year sector were as likely
as rising juniors who began college in the four-year sector to attain a four-year
degree. These findings suggest that, at least since the 1990s, two-year students who
were able to successfully transfer to the four-year sector were not negatively affected
by their community college educational experiences.
The second type of recent research corresponds to studies that have moved away
from the comparison of two- and four-year entrants on educational attainment. This
line of research, instead, has focused on (a) comparing community college students
198 M. S. González Canché

with different levels of educational expectations (Leigh & Gill, 2003) or

(b) analyzing the effects of attending different types of community colleges on
educational attainment (Crisp, 2013; Roksa, 2006; Wang & Wickersham, 2014).
In the former case, Leigh and Gill (2003) found that community college students
who aspired to attain at least a bachelor’s degree actually attained anywhere from 0.4
to 1 extra year of schooling compared to similar students with no bachelor’s degree
aspirations.
Regarding the second line of research, Roksa (2006) utilized the National Edu-
cation Longitudinal Study (1988–2000) and IPEDS data to create a measure of
community colleges’ emphasis on short-term certificates or vocational associate
degrees. The author captured this emphasis by measuring the proportion of all
credentials offered by a given institution that were classified as certificates or
associate’s degrees. Roksa (2006) then relied on logistic regression to estimate the
influence of these two indicators on the likelihood of (a) attaining an associate’s
degree, (b) transferring to a four-year institution, and (c) attaining a four-year degree.
Results indicated that a vocational focus of the two-year institution was not related to
decreases in educational attainment. Also within this second line of research, Wang
and Wickersham (2014) identified students who exhibited what the authors termed
“vertical-co-enrollment.” This type of enrollment was classified as initially enrolling
at a community college and at some point co-enrolling in the four-year sector. They
also identified community college students who co-enrolled at other two-year
institutions and called it “lateral co-enrollment.” Wang and Wickersham (2014)
relied on Beginning Postsecondary Students ([BPS] 2004–2009) and used multino-
mial probit analysis to estimate the effect of these two types of co-enrollment versus
non-co-enrollment while in community college on four-year degree attainment
within four, five, and six years of initial college enrollment. The authors found
that vertical co-enrollment had a positive and significant effect on bachelor’s degree
attainment compared to non-co-enrollment. Finally, Crisp (2013) also used
BPS:2004–2009, but relied on propensity score modeling, to test for the effect of
co-enrollment among community college students on transfer to, and graduation
from, a four-year institution. Her findings also showed positive effects of
co-enrollment, but, different from Wang and Wickersham (2014), Crisp (2013) did
not differentiate between vertical and lateral co-enrollment.
It is worth noting that the studies by Crisp (2013) and Wang and Wickersham
(2014) on the effects of co-enrollment on education attainment and the research on
rising juniors or two-year transfers (Dietrich & Lichtenberger, 2015; Melguizo &
Dowd, 2009; Melguizo et al., 2011; Monaghan & Attewell, 2014) provide positive
evidence regarding some of the ways in which the two-year sector’s stepping stone
role toward the attainment of a four-year degree may be strengthened. Given these
positive findings, future research should focus on increasing our understanding of
factors that promote the production of rising juniors by the two-year sector. Notably,
these factors not only consist of experiences in the two-year sector, but also the
improvement of articulation agreements between two- and four-year institutions.
The latter is an important point given that two- and four-year institution articulation
agreements have consistently been shown to be ill-implemented and lead to loss of
5 Community College Effects 199

credits that jeopardize student persistence in and graduation from highereducation

(Anderson, Alfonso, & Sun, 2006; Dougherty, 1992, 1994; Knoell & Medsker,
1965; Monaghan & Attewell, 2014).
The following section offers a similar overview of research in terms of the effects
of community colleges on labor market outcomes while emphasizing the types of
comparisons conducted in this line of research.
Community Colleges and Labor Market Outcomes Research on the effects of
community college enrollment on labor market outcomes has gone beyond the
analysis of initial two- versus four-year enrollment. Indeed, this line of research
has focused on comparing labor market results in the form of annual salaries and/or
wages realized by high school graduates versus those earned by community college
enrollees who attained associate degrees or simply accumulated some credits with-
out attaining any credential (Grubb, 2002; Jacobson & Mokher, 2009; Kane &
Rouse, 1995; Lin & Vogt, 1996; Marcotte, Bailey, Borkoski, & Kienzl, 2005). All
these studies have found that, compared to high school education, enrollment at a
two-year institution, regardless of degree or credential attainment, is associated with
increased salaries and/or wages. Other researchers have compared salaries and
wages attained by initial two- and four-year entrants (Gill & Leigh, 2003; González
Canché, 2012; Kane & Rouse, 1995; Smart & Ethington, 1985; Whitaker &
Pascarella, 1994) and have consistently found that students initially enrolling in
community colleges had similar levels of occupational prestige and earnings com-
pared to their counterparts who initially enrolled in four-year institutions. Finally,
researchers have compared community college students based on their level of
attainment including no diploma or credential, associate’s degree, diploma, or
certificate (Dagdar & Trimble, 2014, Jepsen, Troske, & Coomes, 2012; Sánchez,
Laanan, & Wiseley, 1999). The results from this line of research indicate that there is
a positive relationship between community college education and earnings wherein
community college students who complete more education tend to receive greater
monetary payoffs.
Compared to research on community college effects on bachelor’s degree attain-
ment, research on labor market outcomes among community college students is not
characterized by a clear starting point with respect to the utilization of quasi-
experimental techniques for model estimation. Indeed, of the studies presented in
Table 5.3, only Gill and Leigh (2003), González Canché (2012), and González
Canché (2014a, 2017a) have offered quasi-experimental estimations. Of these stud-
ies, only González Canché (2017a) has gone beyond the analysis of the effect of the
two-year sector on salary given the eventual attainment of a bachelor’s degree by
comparing monetary compensation realized by Ph.D. holders in STEM fields whose
only observable difference was having begun college in the two-year sector. That is,
in González Canché’s study, whereas a subset of the sample started college in the
community college sector, other students began college in the four-year sector.
Results indicated that participants who began college in the two-year sector realized
about 10% less salary than their counterparts who began college in the four-year
sector, and realized less salary growth over a 10-year period. One of the main
200 M. S. González Canché

contributions of this study is that the author accounted for both observable and
unobservable differences in the analytic sample by relying on propensity score
weighting and instrumental variable techniques with longitudinal panel data,
which allowed him to control for observed and unobserved heterogeneity before
making inferential claims. In addition, this is the only study to date that has
compared the long-term effects of initial two-year enrollment on students’ salary
outcomes, finding a negative association between salary and initial enrollment in the
two-year sector. Nonetheless, González Canché (2017a) concluded that the two-year
sector cannot be blamed for the salary-based differences found in this study. On the
contrary, he remarked that the community college sector was instrumental in the
early formation of the scientists included in the analytic samples and that the main
driver of salary differences corresponded to structural socioeconomic inequality
permeating U.S. society.

5.2.2 Section 2: An Analytic Framework for the Study

of Community College Sector Effects

From the literature on educational outcomes reviewed, it is clear that decades of

research have consistently identified a baccalaureate gap (Table 5.2) wherein the
comparison of two- and four-year college students has shown that the former are
significantly less likely to obtain a bachelor’s degree. These gaps have remained
even when authors relied on quasi-experimental techniques aimed at creating groups
with baseline equivalences (using propensity score modeling techniques) or when
controlling for unobservables (relying on instrumental variables or the Heckman
two-stage control function, for example). Nonetheless, despite these methodological
advances there still exists the possibility that even the findings based on quasi-
experimental methods exaggerate the negative effect of the two-year sector on their
students’ educational attainment failing to account for availability of big and
geocoded data that can be retrieved at the state, county, and institution-level to
further adjust for during college enrollment indicators. More specifically, even
though quasi-experimental methods have addressed issues of self-selection and
systematic differences in the student bodies attending the two- and four-year sectors,
to date this line of research has not yet accounted for issues of confoundedness and
geographically based (or georeferenced) omitted variable bias that can be addressed
with the availability of big and geocoded data sources such as the US census and
other federal agencies such as the National Center for Education Statistics.

5.2.2.1 Confoundedness and Georeferenced Omitted Variable Bias

All the studies discussed in this review comparing two- and four-year entrants’
likelihood of attaining a four-year degree (see Table 5.2) faced an issue of
5 Community College Effects 201

confoundedness, wherein the effect of the treatment of interest (community college

attendance) was also influenced by the control condition (initial attendance in the
four-year sector). Consequently, the outcome of treated participants is subjected to
the effect of both conditions, rather than just one. More specifically, if starting higher
education in community college is conceptualized as the treatment condition, then
students who transferred to the four-year sector were by default exposed to the
control condition (i.e., the four-year sector) as well. This means that a student’s
likelihood of earning a four-year degree was the result of both the two- and four-year
sectors’ effects, and not solely those of the two-year sector. This issue of
confoundedness goes above and beyond issues of self-selection and non-random
assignment discussed in this review. Indeed, in cases of confoundedness “it is not
possible to tell whether the intervention or the confounding factor is responsible for
the difference in outcomes” (WWC, 2014, p. 19). Only studies reviewed in this
document that analyze the outcomes of two-year entrants who did not interact with
the four-year sector are exempt from confoundedness issues. Nonetheless, all studies
that have not incorporated big and geocoded data at different levels are still subject to
georeferenced omitted variable bias issue that may confound the estimates provided
by the authors.
Raising issues of confoundedness and georeferenced omitted variable bias in this
line of research is important because researchers and policymakers alike should
acknowledge that four-year institutions must also be held accountable for failing to
help community college transfer students successfully complete a bachelor’s degree.
From this perspective, the baccalaureate gap documented in the literature may not
only be a function of the four-year sector’s effects but also should overlook access to
local factors, such as unemployment, poverty, income-levels that sorround these
types of institutions. This is an important issue in the production of four-year
graduates that has remained under-discussed in over 50 years of research on two-
and four-year sector effects on student educational outcomes and less notably, but
still present in the comparisons on two and four-year entrants salary outcomes
conducted by Gill & Leigh (2003), González Canché (2012), Kane & Rouse
(1995), Smart and Ethington (1985), and Whitaker and Pascarella (1994).
This section presents an analytic framework that relies on the notion of big and
geocoded data, counterfactual causality, and doubly robust estimations as a means
toward the minimization of the bias associated with the confoundedness
and georeferenced omitted variable bias issues. This strategy is depicted in
Figs. 5.3 and 5.4, both of which enable continued assessment of a student’s initial
sector of enrollment after accounting for baseline indicators influencing likelihood of
beginning college in the two- or four-year sectors. In addition, this framework
enables continued assessment of institution, state, and county-level localized factors
and characteristics that may affect students’ outcomes during college enrollment,
which allows researchers to capture the effect of the four-year sector even among
two-year entrants once these students become rising juniors. Figure 5.3 depicts
comparisons that aim to capture the effect of the two-year sector on educational
outcomes. Figure 5.4 offers an analytic framework to estimate the effect of these
institutions on student financial outcomes, such as annual salary or wages discussed
202 M. S. González Canché

Fig. 5.3 Proposed analytic approach to study the effect of two-year colleges on the attainment of a
four-year degree

above. Although further described below, the main difference between these two
models is that Fig. 5.4 allows estimation of coefficient magnitudes that vary across
different levels of education and therefore implies a more complex set of comparison
groups, whereas in Fig. 5.3, the main outcome of interest remains bachelor’s degree
attainment with initial college entry points as the main comparison of interest.

5.2.2.2 Methodological Conceptualization: Counterfactual Causality

Despite the ‘simplicity’ of asking whether starting college in the public two-year
sector rather than in either the public or private not-for-profit four-year sectors is
associated with lower likelihood of bachelor’s degree attainment or similar salaries,
answering this question requires complex procedures. As the literature review for
this chapter indicates, not only do two- and four-year students come from system-
atically different socioeconomic and academic backgrounds, they also attend sectors
that present important differences in terms of access to resources and cost of
attendance that will likely affect students’ outcomes. This issue makes necessary
the implementation of big and geocoded data and analytic techniques that deal with
systematic individual differences at college entry and throughout college enrollment,
as shown in Figs. 5.3 and 5.4.
 5 Community College Effects

Fig. 5.4 Proposed analytic approach to study the effect of two-year colleges on labor market outcomes (*Last outcome is tested in the last section of this
203

chapter)
204 M. S. González Canché

The methodological framework discussed in the following lines is guided by the

counterfactual or potential outcomes framework and may be used to address prob-
lems of confoundedness and georeferenced omitted variable bias in research on
outcomes related to community college enrollment. This framework indicates that if
researchers could observe (a) the outcomes of the same student i following two
different enrollment trajectories (i.e., started college in the two-year sector while also
started college in the four-year sector either simultaneously or at different points in
time) and (b) the outcome of each trajectory independently from the other academic
trajectory, then researchers would simply need to observe the outcomes difference
resulting from each enrollment trajectory in order to evaluate which decision ren-
dered better results (Caliendo & Kopeinig, 2008; Holland, 1986; Lewis, 1973;
Rubin, 2005). This estimation, which is called individual causal effect (Rubin,
2005), is impossible to obtain (Holland, 1986; Rubin, 2005) and researchers are
constrained to the comparison of the outcomes of students who attended a two-year
college with the outcomes of students who enrolled at a four-year institution. Given
the persistent effects of socioeconomic inequality and reproduction of disparities,
college enrollment decisions do not happen on a level playing field (Bourdieu, 1986)
and the lower access to resources characteristic of two-year entrants may be the
actual driver of the outcome of interest (in direction and magnitude) rather than the
sector itself. The counterfactual or potential outcomes framework enables statistical
correction for systematic differences before estimating the effects of different enroll-
ment trajectories on students’ outcomes.
The analytic framework presented in Figs. 5.3 and 5.4 highlights the need to
control for indicators that account for baseline differences that influence the proba-
bility of a student (a) initially enrolling in either a two- or a four-year institution
(Fig. 5.3) or (b) enrolling in a given sector and attaining a given level of education
(Fig. 5.4). According to this perspective, analytic techniques that correct for this
issue (e.g., propensity score weighting (PSW), Heckman control function, instru-
mental variables) should be employed in any study that aims to minimize the risk
that variation in outcomes of interest is driven by students’ greater initial observable
sources of support and/or self-selection issues based on unobservables, rather than
by initial sector of enrollment and/or level of education attained. Nonetheless,
assuming that accounting for baseline differences is enough to capture sector effects
on students’ outcome variation is shortsighted. As such, statistical models should
also rely on doubly-robust procedures (Ridgeway, McCaffrey, Morral, Burgette, &
Griffin, 2014) to further adjust for initial and transfer institutions-, county-, and state-
level variables affecting participants’ behaviors during college enrollment (e.g., big
and geocoded data). Notably, doubly-robust adjustment is more important when
analyzing sector effects on educational attainment as shown in Fig. 5.3 than when
analyzing financial outcomes measured post-college enrollment (as shown in
Fig. 5.4). Specifically, comparison groups require identification of factors that
predicted enrollment in different sectors before actual enrollment was observed. In
the case of the analytic model contained in Fig. 5.4, economic/financial outcomes are
measured after students leave college and such outcomes are a direct function not
only of initial sector of enrollment, but also, and as importantly, a function of the
5 Community College Effects 205

level of education attained. For this reason, Fig. 5.4, in addition, includes a set of
comparison groups incorporating initial enrollment and levels of tertiary education
attained. From this perspective, then, the initial balance needs to consider both
pre-college and during college enrollment indicators for the initial re-creation of
comparison groups across this complex set of status definitions (e.g., community
college entrants with no degree attainment compared to initial public four-year
entrants with no degree attainment and initial private non-profit four-year entrants
with no degree attainment). When researchers have information about post-college
enrollment indicators measured before final outcome assessment, such indicators
should be used in doubly-robust procedures as depicted in Fig. 5.3. More specifi-
cally, in cases when there is a time-lag between college enrollment and salary
variation, analysts may access data sources that incorporate individual and geo-
graphic (state, county, census tract, or block) indicators that may affect the variation
of salary. Once such indicators, typically available from the American Community
Survey, for example, are retrieved analysts could then adjust for these potential
sources of georeferenced omitted variable bias before making inferential claims.
Table 5.4 contains a list of variables and indicators obtained from big and
geocoded data sources (see footnote on Table 5.4) that may be used in model
operationalization of analyses employing quasi-experimental procedures to capture
pre-college and during-college enrollment variables and indicators that are likely to
affect students’ outcomes. Regarding during-college enrollment factors, for exam-
ple, the persistence behaviors of participants who enrolled at an institution that
offered them several forms of financial aid (such as grants, waivers, or work-
study) or that charged greater amounts of tuition and fees, should arguably differ
from the persistence behaviors of participants whose only aid disbursements were
loans. Similarly, at the state level, ceteris paribus, participants attending college in
states that favor merit or grant aid over loan aid would be expected to have less
burden in terms of tuition and fee costs. County-level indicators (e.g., educational
attainment, median income, crime rates, unemployment, and cost of living) should
also be included in the models to control for geographic socioeconomic conditions
surrounding students’ college options. With respect to the last point, zip code
tabulated area indicators can also be incorporated at the institution- or even
student-level during model especification if their corresponding zip-codes are
available.
Based on the doubly-robust modeling rationale and a quasi-experimental
approach that requires complex comparison groups, variables and indicators should
be separated into two categories: those to be used to account for pre-college entry
differences—all of which should be measured before students entered college– and
those measured during college enrollment to be used in the second stage of the
doubly-robust implementation (in the case of doubly-robust procedures shown in
Fig. 5.3) or in the baselines of quasi-experimental procedures that require complex
comparison groups (as shown in Fig. 5.4). Additionally, model estimation should
focus on capturing all available individual, institutional, and geographic factors
(shown in Table 5.4) that previous research has found to influence educational and
occupational attainment. The results obtained from the analytic models shown in
206 M. S. González Canché

Table 5.4 Individual-, institution-, county-, and state-level characteristics identified in the litera-
ture to predict college enrollment and adjust for factors potentially affecting variation in the
outcomes of interest
Predictors of college entry Factors taking place during college enrollment
Student-level Institution-level Geographic State-level
Gender & ethnicity Tot. cum. tuition cost City Merit aid
millions
SES family 12th grade Tot. cum. fee charges Suburb Need aid
millions
Public K-12 education Total cum. grant aid Town Loan aid
millions
Expect BA degree Total cum. loan aid Rural Prop 18–24
college
Acad. award 10–12 grades Total cum. work- New England Tuition
study aid agreements
Place study at home importance of Tuition waiver selec- Mid East Great WICHEa
financial aid tivity level Lakes SREBb
Importance college selectivity Open admission Plains Midwest stdt
policy exch
Importance placed on grades SAT math 25 & 75 Southeast New England
Married at admission ACT comp 25 & 75 Southwest No tuition
agreemt
Children at admission SAT verb 25 & 75 Rocky No. IHEs
Mountains agreemt
Mother college support Changed major Far West
Father college support Major of degree County-level
Relatives college support Number of majors Cost of living
Teacher/counselor college sup IHE offered grant Median income
AP classes IHE offered loan Crime rate
Took SAT/ACT IHE offered work- Unemployment
study rate
Took PSAT IHE offered waiver Educ.
attainment
Extra HS class preparation Highest degree
offered
Took private class preparation Institutional size
Used book preparation SAT Carnegie
classification
GPA 9th to 12th grades Time to degree
Stdrzd math & reading scores Transfer (2 to 4)
Number siblings Transfer (4 to 2)
Worked 8–12 No. institutions
attended
Never worked 8–12 Distance from home
Ever dropped 8–12 Residency status
Data sources: IPEDS, The U.S. Census Bureau, The Bureau of Labor Statistics, The Bureau of
Economic Analysis, U.S. Department of Commerce, U.S. Census Bureau, Geography Division,
U.S. Department of Housing and Human Development, ACS, CPS
a
Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, bSouthern Regional Education Board
5 Community College Effects 207

Figs. 5.3 and 5.4, and operationalized in Table 5.4, are expected to be less biased and
more robust to georeferenced omitted variable bias compared to the results of studies
subject to issues of confoundedness.

5.2.3 Section 3: Community College Effects

on Undergraduate Loan Cost of Attendance

This section further explores the role of the two-year sector as a financial gap-closing
mechanism. As mentioned above, despite the fact that about 50% of students begin
college in the two-year sector, likely because of its lower sticker price, sufficient
evidence that this sector results in less reliance on student loan debt is lacking,
particularly when considering different levels of educational attainment. From this
perspective, this section implements the analytical framework presented in Fig. 5.4
to capture the effect of community college attendance on debt accumulation, a topic
that remains understudied in the higher education literature.
The main premise of this section is straightforward. Given that current college-
goers are the most indebted students in the country’s history (Baum, 2015), stu-
dents—particularly those from low-income backgrounds– and their families need to
have a clear and comprehensive understanding of the expected cost of loan debt that
a typical traditional-age undergraduate college student will accrue as a result of
postsecondary enrollment and level of degree attainment. This knowledge is relevant
given that student loan debt has reached levels so critical that it has become a crisis
that may place the new U.S. workforce generation’s economy at risk, especially
among students who default on their loans (Cunningham & Keinzel, 2011; Dynarski
& Kreisman, 2013; Gladieux & Perna, 2005; Pinto & Mansfield, 2006). Despite
being a vital part of the college-choice process (even more so when considering the
loan debt crisis), information on the expected loan cost that students will need to bear
post-college enrollment5 is virtually absent from the student aid and finance litera-
tures. Specifically, researchers, counselors, and students and their families tend to
evaluate overt costs of college attendance that consist of tuition and fees, books, and
room and board expenses with little attention paid to the average total amount of loan
debt that a typical recent high school graduate is expected to accrue during under-
graduate college education.
The measure of debt cost used in this study is undergraduate loan cost of
attendance (ULCA) and is operationalized as capturing the total loan debt accrued
by students conditional on (1) sector of first college enrollment (public two-year or
community college, public four-year college, and private not-for-profit 4-year col-
lege) and (2) level of education attainment (no associates’ degree or credential,
certificate and/or associate’s degree, or bachelor’s degree). The construction of a

5
In the case of students borrowing from private lenders and/or unsubsidized loans, interest begins to
accrue during college enrollment.
208 M. S. González Canché

dataset containing pieces of information that come from big and geocoded data
sources at the state, county, and institution-level, enables an assessment of expected
ULCA as a function of diverging enrollment trajectories during undergraduate
education that is robust to omitted variable bias and confoundedness. In this way,
the question of how loan debt costs change for differing levels of educational
attainment conditional on different initial enrollment decisions can be answered.
The selection of public two-year, public four-year, and private non-profit four-year
institutions as points of entry to higher education are a function of big and geocoded
data availability presented in two nationally representative samples of college-goers
during the 1990s and the 2000s. It is worth noting that the estimates presented in this
last section of the chapter apply to typical college-age students. While this
sub-sample is a potential limitation with respect to generalizability of the findings,
it is important to recall that about 50% of all undergraduate students interact with the
community college system in the U.S. (AACC, 2016; González Canché, 2012),
accordingly the sub-samples employed are relevant across the contiguous United
States. In sum, the estimates found in this section are most applicable to recent high
school graduates who may be considering initial enrollment in the two-year sector as
an immediate cost-saving alternative.
ULCA represents an important piece of information that should be an essential
component of students’ college-going decisions. Policy- and decision-makers, and
students and their families, should be clearly informed about expected ULCA so that
they can make better and more informed decisions regarding their college choices,
which would ideally prevent students from falling into delinquency status or
defaulting on their loan debt altogether. The importance of this information is
arguably more relevant for low-income students who tend to face tighter budget
constraints and, all else equal, face greater challenges to repay loan debt than their
more affluent counterparts. The informational campaigns that may result from the
findings presented herein will enable students to select the most cost-effective higher
education options and may prove to be an effective mechanism toward financial
literacy and self-sufficiency.
The logic used to measure variations in ULCA is an implementation of the
proposed analytic approach shown in Fig. 5.4 to study the effect of two-year colleges
on student financial outcomes. In this case, the outcome of interest is variation in
ULCA. As discussed in the previous section, this analytic framework accounts for
theoretically and empirically sound indicators utilized in rigorous research
conducted on factors affecting the variation of student loan debt burden (Belfield,
2013; Chen & Wiederspan, 2014; Deming, Goldin, & Katz, 2011) and sector effects
on educational attainment (Brand, Pfeffer, & Goldrick-Rab, 2014; Dietrich &
Lichtenberger, 2015; Doyle, 2009; Melguizo et al., 2011; Rouse, 1995; Stephan
et al., 2009). In this sense, model estimation will pay special attention to capturing all
available individual and institutional factors that previous research has found to
influence debt accumulation (González Canché, 2014a, 2014b) while in addition
incorporating geographic level indicators obtained from big data sources (shown in
Table 5.4) such the US census to further adjust for potential omitted variable bias.
The logic model shown in Fig. 5.4, and operationalized in Table 5.4, was designed
5 Community College Effects 209

with the purpose of obtaining estimates that reflect the least biased expected ULCA
across institutional sectors, levels of educational attainment, and enrollment
trajectories.

5.2.3.1 Research Question

The overarching question guiding this section is the following: What is the expected
cost of loan debt resulting from initial enrollment in the public two-year sector
compared to initial enrollment in either the public four-year or private not-for-profit
four-year sectors conditional on different levels of educational attainment?
The logic model employed herein takes into consideration that ULCA amount varies
conditional on different levels of degree attainment (e.g., students who persist until bache-
lor’s degree attainment remain enrolled for longer and therefore require more financial
resources than students who drop out of college after one year of attendance or those who
attain a certificate, for example). Accordingly, sector effects on ULCA will be measured
while estimating models disaggregated based on different levels of degree attainment. In this
sense, the overarching question can be decomposed into the following more specific research
questions, all of which will be addressed after accounting for key factors that may influence
students’ need to rely on loan debt (e.g., tuition, fees, grants, time of enrollment, local cost of
living) shown in Table 5.4:

1. Do two-year entrants who obtained a bachelor’s degree complete their studies

with similar ULCA as their counterparts who also attained a four-year degree but
started in either the public four-year sector or private not-for-profit four-year
sector?
2. How do these estimates change across non-degree/certificate, and associate’s
degree recipients?
3. Have the answers to these two questions remained constant across decades?
This last research question is addressed using model specifications that rely on
over 20 years of official non-self-reported loan data retrieved from the National
Student Loan Data System (NSLDS). This system captured all loan disbursements
and repayments made by college students from two nationally representative sam-
ples of recent high school graduates—The National Educational Longitudinal Study
([NELS], 1988–2000) and the Educational Longitudinal Study ([ELS], 2002–12)–
who started college between the ages of 16 and 19 and who were followed up to nine
years after initial college enrollment. From this view, the logic model and the
longitudinal panel nature of the data analyzed will enable assessment of the effect
of enrollment trajectories and educational attainment on ULCA variation across
generations. This framework also serves to demonstrate that big data availability
was a reality since the 1990s.
210 M. S. González Canché

5.2.3.2 Methods and Statistical Procedures

The method implemented for this study follows the counterfactual or potential
outcomes framework described above, which accounts for the fact that college
enrollment decisions do not happen on a level playing field (Bourdieu, 1986),
wherein lower access to resources characteristic of two-year entrants may drive
students’ level of education attainment, which in turn affects loan debt variation
(in direction and magnitude). As such, variations in loan debt may not be the result of
initial sector of enrollment, but rather result from other confounding factors. Accord-
ingly, model identification was conducted to create comparison groups that identi-
fied both initial sector of enrollment and levels of educational attainment before
correcting for systematic differences across comparison groups. Specifically, fol-
lowing Fig. 5.4, the models considered both pre-college entry indicators that iden-
tified college-choice status and during-college indicators that may have affected
likelihood of educational attainment (using information from all four columns shown
in Table 5.4). Pre-college indicators included information on diverging sources of
academic, social, and financial support to which students had access during high
school. During-college indicators were comprised of institution-, county-, and state-
level variables affecting participants’ comparison group status before measuring the
effect of initial community college attendance on ULCA variations. These pro-
cedures, although time-consuming in terms of collecting big data information from
different sources, are important given that the borrowing behaviors of participants
who enrolled at an institution that offered them other forms of financial aid (such as
grants, waivers, or work-study) or that charged greater amounts of tuition and fees,
were arguably different from the borrowing behaviors of participants whose only aid
disbursements were loans. As described in the second section, at the state level,
holding everything else constant, state-level policies that favored merit or grant aid
over loan aid would be expected to students’ reliance on loans (e.g., the Georgia
effect with the HOPE scholarship). County-level indicators are also included in the
models to control for geographic SES conditions surrounding students’ college
options.
Propensity Score Weighting The quasi-experimental procedures implemented in
this study rely on propensity score modeling approaches, specifically focused on
weights obtained from participants’ probabilities to be classified in one of the three
boxes contained in Fig. 5.4 and listed next:
1. Comparisons among non-degree holders who (a) began college enrollment in the
two-year sector, (b) began college enrollment in the public four-year sector, or
(c) began college in the private non-profit four-year sector.
2. Comparisons among associate/certificate-degree holders who (a) began college
enrollment in the two-year sector, (b) began college enrollment in the public four-
year sector, or (c) began college in the private non-profit four-year sector.
5 Community College Effects 211

3. Comparisons among bachelor’s degree holders who (a) began college enrollment
in the two-year sector, (b) began college enrollment in the public four-year sector,
or (c) began college in the private non-profit four-year sector.

In all these cases the main group of interest consists of students who began
college in the public two-year sector. From this viewpoint, all comparisons made
in this chapter are of the type (a) versus (b) or (a) versus (c). Other studies may
compare differences in (b) and (c).
PSM assumes that treatment assignment (in this case, beginning college in the
two-year sector) and selection are fundamentally based on observables (Reynolds &
DesJardins, 2009; Rosenbaum & Rubin, 1983). These observables are conceptual-
ized as the factors and covariates that are influential in determining participants’
probabilities of receiving treatment. The standard procedure to obtain this probabil-
ity consists of naïve logit estimators, as follows in (1):

Pðt ¼ 1jxÞ
log ¼ β0 x ð5:1Þ
1  Pðt ¼ 1jxÞ

where β is selected to maximize the logistic log-likelihood. Considering that the

inclusion of big data increases the likelihood of fitting on noise or overfitting
(Harrell, 2015; Zhao et al., 2011), analysts should impose a penalty based on
multicollinearity issues and overinfluence of indicators on the prediction of interest.
One way to overcome this issue consists of applying a penalty term for coefficients
that are large in absolute value and may lead to inflated propensities (Ridgeway
et al., 2014), as follows in (2):

1X n    XJ
‘β ¼ t i β0 xis  log 1 þ exp β0 xis  λ j βj j ð5:2Þ
n i¼1 j¼1

X
J
where the term λ j βj j is the penalty term as it decreases the overall value of ‘β.
j¼1
In practice, and in the approach implemented in this chapter, propensity scores are
often computed using predictors of treatment status that are highly correlated with
each other across different potential outcomes. In this case, “the lasso [least absolute
subset selection and shrinkage operator, captured in the second term of the right hand
section of Eq. (5.2)] tends to include all of them [predictors] in the model, shrink
their coefficients toward 0, and produce a predictive model that utilizes all of the
information in the covariates, producing a model with greater out-of-sample predic-
tive performance than models using variable subset selection methods” (Ridgeway
et al., 2014, p. 29).
The estimate of ‘β obtained is typically referred to as e(x) in the propensity score
modeling literature (Reynolds & DesJardins 2009; Rosenbaum & Rubin, 1983).
This estimator allows for the computation of the balancing score [b(x)], which
ensures that the comparison between treated (t ¼ 1) and control (t ¼ 0) units are
212 M. S. González Canché

made considering similar pretreatment or baseline characteristics (xis ) given b(x).

Note that b(x) is a theoretical construct that is only approximated by e(x) if the
researcher has access to truly influential covariates that explain treatment assignment
and allow for the identification of counter-factual cases (Rosenbaum & Rubin,
1983). When all observable predictors xis are balanced across treated and control
units, this approach is assumed to have statistically recreated natural treatment and
control groups whose counter-factual outcomes can be compared.
Given that b(x) can take an infinite value, one method to create balance across
treatment and control statuses is to rely on matching mechanisms (Rosenbaum &
Rubin, 1983), where, conditional on b(x) values, the covariates xis become balanced
(see S. Becker & Ichino, 2002 for a survey of the most frequently used balancing
mechanisms). Another use of b(x) consists of using it as a weight to create a balanced
sample. The main advantage of this weighting method is that propensity weights can
be used like survey sampling weights, thus allowing researchers to use them in
different statistical approaches, including doubly robust procedures, to adjust for
covariates that were not balanced or that were captured after the treatment assign-
ment took place (Ridgeway et al., 2014). For example, if treatment is defined as two-
versus four-year enrollment and the outcome is probability of four-year degree
attainment, one can balance on precollege indicators to estimate the propensity to
two-year enrollment, and then use college-enrollment indicators (institutional size,
financial aid, major, etc.) in the outcome equation to account for indicators that may
have further affected a given student’s likelihood of four-year graduation above and
beyond the initial propensity toward two-year enrollment. The treatment effect of
interest in this chapter is the ATT, or average treatment effect for the treated, which
captures the effect of initial community college enrollment and educational attain-
ment on ULCA, and is mathematically expressed as E[Y (1)  Y (0)|t ¼ 1], where Y
(1) is the ULCA realized by students who initially attended a community college
(across the three levels of education attainment identified in Fig. 5.4), Y (0) is that of
students initially attending either the four-year public or private not-for-profit sectors
(also across the different levels of education attainment identified in Fig. 5.4), and
t ¼ 1 is treatment status. The propensity score weights (PSWs) for the ATT are
defined as follows: wðxÞ ¼ K ff ððt¼1jx Þ bðxÞ
t¼0jxÞ ¼ K 1bðxÞ, where b(x) is the propensity
(or assumed balancing) score described above and K is a normalization constant,
used to reduce any probability function to a probability density function with total
probability of one, that will cancel out in the outcomes analysis (Ridgeway et al.,
2014).
Outcome Variable The loan data contained in NSLDS was obtained from an
administrative records linkage system using sample members’ dates of birth and
Social Security Numbers. All loan information came directly from external institu-
tions and includes specific dates of all non-self-reported amounts of disbursements
and repayments made by all survey participants who borrowed and enrolled in any
Title IV institution. In the case of NELS, the debt data account for students who
attended college between 1991 and 2000. For ELS, the NSLDS contains loan
disbursements and repayments from 2001 to 2012. The loan outcomes analyzed in
5 Community College Effects 213

this chapter are restricted to undergraduate loan disbursements. This restriction is

possible given that the three NSLDS datasets have a variable called “Academic
level” (ACADLVL) that registered the undergraduate year in which a given amount
was disbursed—including amount, date, and type of loan (e.g., subsidized or
unsubsidized). The detailed information contained in the NSLDS allowed for the
creation of an indicator measuring the proportion of ULCA accrued that was
subsidized as opposed to unsubsidized. If this indicator has a value of 1, this
would indicate that all loan amounts were obtained from federally subsidized
sources. If this indicator is 0.5, then half of the debt accrued came from subsidized
support. This indicator is important considering that debt burden is expected to
change given students’ reliance on subsidized or unsubsidized debt. In the former,
borrowers are not required to pay interest while still attending college. Borrowers
with unsubsidized loans, on the other hand, are required to pay interest while still
enrolled as a student. This indicator was included in the doubly robust procedures
described above.
Variables and Indicators Used to Predict College Choice In line with the
conceptual framework outlined in Section 2 of this chapter, variables employed to
predict students’ initial sector of attendance considered their various resources in the
form of (a) social capital, such as support from parents, relatives, and high school
teachers and counselors to pursue a college education; (b) economic capital, includ-
ing socioeconomic status, access to private tutors and private classes, the need to
work to support their education in high school, importance placed on availability of
financial aid in college-going decisions, and public elementary school attendance;
and (c) proxies of cultural capital, accounted for by participation in advanced
placement classes, importance placed on good grades, academic recognition, and
having taken the SAT/ACT, all of which can reflect a college-going culture typically
associated with students coming from families who can afford greater monetary
investments in education. Previous research (Alfonso, 2006; Dougherty, 1992;
Doyle, 2009; González Canché, 2014, 2017a; Long & Kurlaender, 2009; Melguizo,
2009; Melguizo & Dowd, 2009; Reynolds, 2012; Stephan et al., 2009) has shown
that these indicators are systematically different for two- and four-year students, thus
empirically justifying the need to control for observed differences.
During-College Factors Baseline indicators used before model estimation also
accounted for factors that were measured during college enrollment to account for
institution-, county-, and state-level variables assumed to affect students’ borrowing
behaviors. Institution-level variables were selected to account for variations in
college major and other forms of financial aid offered by the institutions where
students attended. Forms of aid consider grants, loans, work-study, and waivers.
This aid information is stored in the student-institution files contained in both NELS
and ELS studies. In addition, an estimate of the total tuition and fees that students
paid during undergraduate college enrollment was computed for each student. This
estimation considered time of enrollment (in years) and tuition and fee charges at
each institution. These charges were retrieved directly from IPEDS records. Institu-
tional selectivity is also included in the NELS and ELS samples. Additionally,
214 M. S. González Canché

modeling included Carnegie classification as provided by IPEDS along with a binary

indicator of whether a given institution had an active open-door admission policy
during a student’s college attendance. The models also included institution size and
locale to capture whether institutions were located in cities, suburbs, towns, or rural
areas. Land grant status of the students’ college were also considered as these
institutions are assumed to serve local or in-state students and enrollment in this
type of institution may capture other forms of aid or support not captured by the ELS
survey. Time of enrollment was another important indicator calculated from NELS
and ELS surveys using information about date of initial college enrollment and date
of last college attendance.
State-level indicators at this second stage of model estimation included a measure
of per capita disposable personal income (dollars), defined as total personal income
minus personal current taxes, a measure retrieved from The Bureau of Economic
Analysis during each year of enrollment, as well as a measure of college access in the
state where students first enrolled in college, which is defined as the proportion of
inhabitants aged 18–24 years who are enrolled in college (United States Census
Bureau Population Estimates, 2014). In addition, given that some authors have
discussed the influence of state and regional tuition reduction agreements in mobility
flows across neighboring states, which in turn affects tuition and fees variation
(Cooke & Boyle, 2011; Zhang & Ness, 2010), the models incorporated this infor-
mation provided by the following organizations: MSEP (2014); NEBHED (2014);
SREB (2014); WICHE (2014). The models also included states’ total amount in
merit, loan, and need-based financial aid spent during the year students were enrolled
in college, information retrieved from several reports available from the National
Association of State Student Grant & Aid Programs (1992–1993, 2004–2005).
County-level characteristics captured socio-economic geographic attributes such as
educational attainment, median income, crime rates, unemployment, and cost of
living as mechanisms potentially affecting ULCA variation above and beyond state-,
institution-, and individual-level indicators.
Given that model estimation relied on two different datasets and multiple com-
parison groups, results of balance tests are available upon request. This chapter will
now focus on the estimates outlined in Figs. 5.5, 5.6, and 5.7.

5.2.3.3 Findings

Figures 5.5, 5.6 and 5.7 summarize the results of the model specifications just
discussed. Figure 5.5 shows the effects of initial enrollment in the two-year sector
among participants who did not attain any credential or degree. Of these four quasi-
causal estimates, the only result that did not show significant differences was the
comparison between public two- and four-year entrants during the 1990s (NELS
data). Specifically, although the models show a reduction of about $2000 in debt for
community college entrants compared to public four-year entrants, this difference is
not significant. A decade later (ELS), this gap increased to a significant $8000,
 55000

Undergradaute Cost of Aendance in 2017 USD 45000

35000

25000

15000

5000

-5000

-15000

-25000
No Degree/Cred Pub No Degree/Cred Pub No Degree/Cred Pri No Degree/Cred Pri
4-Yr 90's 4-Yr 00's 4-Yr 90's 4-Yr 00's
Mean 9816.61 15485.71 13482.51 27852.01
Comm College -1743.67 -7929.36 -5409.57 -20295.66

Fig. 5.5 Comparisons among non-degree holders

55000
Undergradaute Cost of Aendance in 2017 USD

45000

35000

25000

15000

5000

-5000

-15000

-25000
Degree/Cred Pub 4-Yr Degree/Cred Pub 4-Yr Degree/Cred Pri 4-Yr Degree/Cred Pri 4-Yr
90's 00's 90's 00's
Mean 8187.04 21154.97 9124.89 25127.1
Comm College 642.23 -7182.3 -295.62 -11154.43

Fig. 5.6 Comparisons among less than four-year degree holders

216 M. S. González Canché

Undergradaute Cost of Aendance in 2017 USD 55000

45000

35000

25000

15000

5000

-5000

-15000

-25000
BA/BS Pub 4-Yr 90's BA/BS Pub 4-Yr 00's BA/BS Pri 4-Yr 90's BA/BS Pri 4-Yr 00's
Mean 18346.16 29461.27 26145.98 45409.61
Comm College 706.34 -2858.88 -7093.48 -18807.23

Fig. 5.7 Comparisons among Bachelor’s degree holders

indicating that had two-year entrants who did not attain any degree begun college
enrollment in the public four-year sector, their debt accruement would have been
approximately $8000 higher. The most alarming finding for non-degree holders was
found in the 2000s, wherein the estimated gap reached over $20,000 in the compar-
ison of two-year and four-year not-for-profit entrants. In this case, two-year entrants
who did not attain any degree would have ended up with extra $20,000 in debt had
they begun their studies in the private non-profit four-year sector. Another way to
interpret this result is that had students who initially enrolled in the four-year private
non-profit sector begun college instead in the community college, their debt accu-
mulation would have been about $8000 instead of an estimated $27,852.
Figure 5.6 compares participants who attained an associate’s degree. In this case,
the 1990s data show that among these students, beginning college in the public
two-year sector did not translate into significant decreases in debt accumulation. This
result holds true for comparisons of both four-year public and private non-profit
institutions. For example, when compared to students who initially enrolled in the
four-year public sector, community college participants accrued on average about
$600 more in debt. In the following decade, however, community college students
who attained a less-than-four-year degree had an overall debt accumulation that was
$7000 and $11,000 lower than if they had instead initially enrolled in the four-year
5 Community College Effects 217

public and private non-profit sectors, respectively. That is, these contemporaneous
results indicate a lower ULCA for initial two-year entrants who attained an associ-
ate’s or comparable degree (e.g., a certificate).
Finally, results for students who attained a four-year degree were mixed across
decades, but consistent between sectors, as shown in Fig. 5.7. More specifically, for
participants who attained a four-year degree, initial enrollment in the community
college sector versus the four-year public sector resulted in insignificant differences
in ULCA variation across decades. In the 2000s, the average ULCA accumulated by
four-year degree holders was about $30,000 in 2017 dollars. Two-year entrants had
an ULCA that was about $3000 (10%) lower than their public four-year counter-
parts. Notably, four-year degree holders who initially enrolled in the two-year sector
consistently accrued significantly less ULCA than their four-year private non-profit
counterparts. This disparity was about $7000 in the 1990s and almost $19,000
during the 2000s. The results in Fig. 5.7 additionally indicate that for initial attendees
of the four-year non-profit sector, ULCA was over $45,000 in the 2000s on average.
In sum, the most consistent finding in this study is that after controlling for
baseline indicators that not only considered pre-, but also during-college, enrollment
indicators, beginning college in the two-year sector during the 2000s resulted in a
considerably lower ULCA.

5.3 Discussion

The findings presented in the literature comparing the effect of two-year institutions
on students’ likelihood of bachelor’s degree attainment consistently suggest that,
compared to four-year entrants, students beginning their studies in the two-year
sector have lower probabilities of bachelor’s degree attainment (Table 5.2). Con-
versely, when analyzing the effect of two-year enrollment against no college enroll-
ment and four-year attendance, results indicate that two-year students have better or
similar salary benefits compared to high school graduates and four-year students,
respectively (Table 5.3). From this perspective, any study attempting to comprehen-
sively evaluate the role of the two-year sector on students’ propensity to upward
mobility must at least consider these two sets of outcomes before drawing conclu-
sions about this sector’s role in the reproduction of inequality of opportunities.
While academic outcomes can be interpreted as the two-year sector playing an
important role in the reproduction of inequality in educational attainment, salary-
based findings suggest that the two-year sector may indeed have a gap-closing effect
on socioeconomic inequality in the United States. Nonetheless, future studies should
also incorporate other comparison sectors and explore additional outcomes using the
analytic framework presented in this chapter, as exemplified in the third section.
Concerning the analysis presented in this chapter in particular, initial enrollment in
the two-year sector was consistently found to render a much more affordable path
than beginning college in the private non-profit four-year sector. These results
illustrate another way in which community colleges may have a gap-closing effect
218 M. S. González Canché

on socioeconomic inequality. Accordingly, students should be made aware of the

ULCA they are expected to incur as a function of initial enrollment in any of the
three sectors studied. Likewise, it is important for future students to know that the
worst-case scenario found in this study is found among initial four-year entrants who
did not attain any degree or credential, as these students ended up with no degree or
credential but with almost $30,000 in debt.
The conceptualization of the two-year sector as an entity capable closing gaps in
socioeconomic inequality in the United States must incorporate a discussion of the
current situation in the U.S. with respect to inequality and stratification of opportu-
nities based on socioeconomic status. The purpose of presenting this information is
to depict more comprehensively the rather difficult circumstances that low-income
students continue to face in U.S. society. Following this illustration, the main
findings and conclusions regarding the role of the two-year sector in closing socio-
economic gaps are revisited while emphasizing the mission of the two-year sector
and the types of students it has historically served.

5.3.1 Pre-college Entrance Inequality, Educational

Stratification, and College Choice

Although the present study focuses on tertiary education, considering that income
inequality is a social issue of marked prevalence in the U.S., it is important to
contemplate the ways in which this problem continues to shape the lives of at least
46 million Americans (DeNavas-Walt & Proctor, 2015). Accordingly, this section
provides a synthesis of the systematic barriers experienced by low-income students
long before college entry takes place and the ways in which this persistent socio-
economic inequality more often than not obstructs their probabilities for upward
socioeconomic mobility into adulthood.

5.3.2 Pre-college Socioeconomic Inequality

Low-income children attending school in the United States (who overwhelmingly

tend to be of African American, Hispanic or Latino, and American Indian in origin)
have been systematically exposed to structural disadvantages that have permeated all
aspects of their lives and—when compared to their more affluent counterparts– have
made their prospects for attaining social and economic mobility less feasible (Jiang,
Ekono, & Skinner, 2015; Laub, 2014). For example, low-income students are more
likely to live in single-parent households, which are usually composed of families
supported by single-mothers (Hill, 2010), and tend to grow up in homes character-
ized by poorly functioning family environments. Both of these home life situations
constitute widely documented serious risk factors associated with an increase in the
5 Community College Effects 219

probability of clashes with the juvenile justice system (Gottesman & Schwarz, 2011;
Laub, 2014). It is worth noting that even in cases where both parents are present in
low-income households, these parents are more likely to be unemployed or to hold
underemployed positions that pay minimum wages that, conditional on the number
of dependents in the family, may not be enough to cover living expenses between
paychecks (Jiang et al., 2015). With respect to education attainment and substance
consumption, parents in low-income families are less likely to hold a high school
degree (Jiang et al., 2015; Ludwig et al., 2013) and are more prone to alcohol,
tobacco, and/or substance dependence (Coley, Kull, Leventhal, & Lynch, 2014;
Foster, 2000; Maring & Braun, 2006), both of which are factors typically associated
with violence and crime (Ludwig et al., 2013).
Moving beyond their households, low-income students tend to grow up in
neighborhoods or communities plagued with high poverty and crime rates, lower
education attainment indices, higher health care issues and unemployment rates, and
low overall housing quality (Ludwig et al., 2013; Rosenblatt & DeLuca, 2012;
Sampson, 2012). Structurally, low-income children growing up in low-income
neighborhoods are surrounded by other at-risk peers (Ludwig et al., 2013) and attend
K-12 schools that reflect these structural barriers. This vicious cycle translates into
access to low performing schools (Rosenblatt & DeLuca, 2012) that suffer from high
teacher turnover resulting from a scarcity of resources at the district and school levels
and overall poor working conditions (Ingersoll, Merrill, & Stuckey, 2014; Simon &
Johnson, 2015). These high turnover rates in low-income schools imply that
low-income students are typically taught by new teachers who do not necessarily
have the work experience needed to develop effective teaching strategies, particu-
larly those necessary for working in a low-income setting (Borman & Dowling,
2008; Simon & Johnson, 2015). Additionally, low-income schools present higher
indices of crime that not only affect these students’ odds of continuation but also
make them more likely to be victims of crime and/or be the offenders themselves
(Bowen & Bowen, 1999; Ludwig et al., 2013).
From a postsecondary access perspective, an important barrier to higher educa-
tion faced by low-income students is that they rarely have access to quality guid-
ance—or guidance at all—in the college preparation and selection process. Indeed,
the student-to-counselor ratio usually reaches nearly 1000:1 in financially segregated
zones with access to fewer resources and higher risk factors (Gandara, Alvarado,
Driscoll, & Orfield, 2012; Haskins, Holzer, Lerman, & Trusts, 2009; McDonough,
2005; McDonough, Korn, & Yamasaki, 1997). In this view, it is clear that the
structural inequalities experienced by low-income students systematically permeate
all aspects of their young lives long before they have had any formal contact with the
U.S. postsecondary system. Taking into consideration the systematic barriers just
described, it is not surprising that even when considering only high-achieving
students, low-income youth are eight times less likely to attend college than their
higher income counterparts and more than twice as likely to attend a community
college (Giancola & Kahlenberg, 2016).
It is worth noting that the disparities between community college students and
four-year entrants, as described previously, are not merely a reflection of
220 M. S. González Canché

socioeconomic inequality that translates into differing levels of access to quality

K-12 schools that then mediate opportunities to attend college and academic perfor-
mance during college (Gandara et al. 2012; Hauser, 1970; Martinez-Wenzl &
Marquez, 2012). On the contrary, these discrepancies in two- and four-year students
are also a reflection of the community college mission that is captured in its open-
door policy, which indicates that “students neither need to compete for admission at
a set time of the year nor demonstrate a level of academic proficiency to enroll”
(Provasnik & Planty, 2008, p. 10). It is worth noting that 97% of all community
colleges in 2013–2014 had such a policy. The corresponding proportion of public
and private not-for-profit four-year colleges with open door admission policies in the
same year were 17% and 12%, respectively (IPEDS, 2013). Unsurprisingly, this
level of openness attracts students who either have no interest in pursuing a four-year
degree (Berkner et al., 2008; González Canché, 2014a, 2014b) or have been
excluded from the four-year sector (Kasper, 2003; Rendón, Novack, & Dowell,
2005) due to academic and financial challenges that may jeopardize eventual degree
completion (Dietrich & Lichtenberger, 2015; Melguizo & Dowd, 2009; Goldrick-
Rab, 2010; Provasnik & Planty, 2008). In this sense, one can conclude that four-year
institutions prefer to exclude at risk students whereas community colleges take pride
in including as many of them as possible (Kasper, 2003; Townsend, 1999). As such,
community colleges more frequently expose themselves to an increased risk of
‘failure’ in helping students persist, yet are criticized for not helping these same
students attain a bachelor’s degree at levels comparable to those of students who, for
a variety of reasons (e.g., monetary, academic, or both), begin college in the four-
year sector.
From this perspective, the results summarized in Table 5.2 that have led many to
conclude that community colleges decrease students’ opportunities for educational
advancement overtly ignore the positive economic payoffs of community college
attendance resulting from credits, degrees, and certificates attained in this sector. In
this regard, it seems that claiming that two-year institutions are perpetuating strati-
fication of opportunities for upward mobility may be wrong or, at the very least,
incomplete. The fact that community college students attain similar monetary
payoffs from their education even when compared to four-year entrants is remark-
able and is a finding that has been ignored by critics of the two-year sector who
depict this sector as an engine of inequality. Given the difficulties faced by
low-income students, any social entity that is capable of providing students with
the opportunity to escape the vicious cycle of poverty perpetuated by socioeconomic
inequality should hold a valued and respected role in society. Unfortunately, this is
not the case for community colleges. To the contrary, public two-year institutions
continue to be underfunded and have historically received less state support than
their public four-year counterparts while still enrolling higher numbers of students
across states (Delta-Cost-Project, 2012: IPEDS, 2013). This considerably limited
access to resources has translated into a constant decrease in full-time faculty (Delta-
Cost-Project, 2012; González Canché, 2012) that reached all time low proportions in
2012 (34.25%). Consequently, students attending the two-year sector, who addi-
tionally tend to be academically vulnerable, are less likely to have access to full-time
5 Community College Effects 221

faculty to help them develop the knowledge and skills necessary to continue
education beyond the two-year sector or face the job-market (Fain, 2014;
McClenney & Arnsparger, 2014).
Despite the barriers just described, the open-door admissions policy typical of the
two-year sector continues to be perhaps the best approach to ameliorating socioeco-
nomic inequality in U.S. society. Research has consistently shown that community
college entrants, when compared to high school graduates, are in better socioeco-
nomic standing and are in similar standing compared to four-year students.
Decision-makers, then, should focus on both these democratizing- and
socioeconomic-leveling functions of community colleges when making funding
decisions that may lead to tuition increases in the two-year sector. This notion is
noteworthy given that two-year institutions, despite receiving less state support, are
constrained in terms of their ability to raise revenue from increases in tuition charges.
A rather small increase in tuition amounts can render college attendance almost
unaffordable to low-income students (Dynarski, 2002), whose most realistic option
for attending college is through the community college sector. Thus, if these
institutions raise tuition, the most affected students and citizens would be those in
most need, on average, of financial aid. Lower levels of state and federal support
combined with the inability to raise tuition prices may result in the need to cut
admissions and as a consequence, the socioeconomic gap-closing effect of the
two-year sector will also diminish. Support for the two-year sector, then, implies a
commitment to those with the most financial need, an idea supported by the literature
reviewed in this chapter. Any reduction in the socioeconomic gap will have positive
externalities in the larger economy of any country, not just in the personal lives of
low-income students benefiting from access to college.

5.3.3 Community Colleges’ Role in (Inter)National

Competitiveness

As mentioned before, federal-, state-, and city-level initiatives often intend to

increase the community college sector’s role as the starting point of post-secondary
education. If the emphasis of such initiatives is placed on producing short-term
credentials and vocational careers, then this increased presence of the community
college sector is not problematic, as research has, to a great extent, indicated a
positive effect for this sector on employment outcomes, wages, and lower ULCA
accumulated, overall. However, if emphasis is placed on using the two-year sector as
the ‘gateway’ to a baccalaureate degree, research suggests that this approach may be
misguided in the absence of more structural changes. Indeed, in its current state, the
negative effect of starting college in the community college sector has remained even
after accounting for self-selection bias by incorporating sophisticated techniques into
modeling specifications –with the caveats highlighted earlier in this chapter.
222 M. S. González Canché

The analysis of the role of the community college sector in the economic well-
being of the U.S. is not a trivial endeavor. Community colleges may not be
systematically and purposefully demotivating or cooling-out students, but these
institutions do nevertheless face barriers when it comes to helping students navigate
undergraduate education. In addition to welcoming academically challenged stu-
dents who usually must work to finance their education while enrolled, these
institutions have more restricted access to resources compared to their four-year
counterparts. For the community college to become a feasible gateway to a bache-
lor’s degree, structural changes need to co-occur that extend beyond policies
designed to make community college attendance free. Asking for more resources
to be directed to the community college sector is rooted in strong evidence about the
effective use of these funds in improving students’ outcomes. For example, the City
University of New York system has implemented a program called Accelerated
Study in Associate Programs (ASAP) that focuses on providing intensive advising,
tutoring, tuition waivers, money for books, and transportation for students. A study
of its effects, conducted by Scrivener et al. (2015), followed almost 900 students,
half of which participated in ASAP. These authors found that ASAP students
doubled their likelihood of receiving an associate’s degree (40% versus 22%) within
three years of initial enrollment and were 8% more likely to have transferred to the
four-year sector (25% versus 17%). This finding is similar to that reported by
Barrow, Richburg-Hayes, Rouse, and Brock (2014), who conducted a random
experiment where initial scholarship eligibility criteria (before randomization
occurred) included being low-income and having children. This experiment took
place on three campuses, and Barrow et al. (2014) consistently found that over a
2-year period, randomly selected treatment students completed nearly 40% more
credits than their non-selected counterparts. Finally, Scott-Clayton (2011) also found
that a merit scholarship combined with performance incentives conditional on grades
and credits earned increased two-year students’ likelihood of attaining a 4-year
degree. Despite these encouraging reports, important setbacks continue to occur.
Arizona, for example, completely cut funding for two of its largest community
college districts (Smith, 2015). Although these institutions (one of which serves
265,000 students) have stated that no tuition increases will take place in the short
run, the question remains whether, or how long, they can continue to survive.
Community colleges with limited resources have helped millions of students to
improve their socioeconomic well-being, but for the U.S. to maintain its interna-
tional competitiveness, short-term degrees may not be enough. Four-year degrees
may indeed be essential for the U.S. to remain a relevant economic competitor
internationally. Recent research on students who successfully became rising juniors
(i.e, successfully transferred from the two- to the four-year sector) and on vertical
co-enrollment has highlighted factors facilitating the academic success of these
students. In this view, a better articulated transfer path or immersion of two-year
students in the four-year sector may be valid options that increase these students’
odds of academic success.
5 Community College Effects 223

5.3.4 A More Structured Pathway

Past research (Rosenbaum, Deil-Amen, & Person, 2007) has indicated that low-
income students in the community college sector usually feel overwhelmed by the
variety of choices they face when it comes to selecting classes. This feeling is not
only the result of the actual multiplicity of choices available at most community
colleges but is also likely due to structural issues that began during high school
where the student to counselor ratio usually reaches nearly 1000:1 in low-income
areas (McDonough, 2005). Among students attending these high schools, those who
are able to enroll in the local community college tend to be first generation college
students. Consequently, their parents are usually not prepared to offer academic
guidance. Given that state appropriations are in constant decline and that community
colleges benefit the least from these resources, expanding the number of community
college counselors on which students can rely to make informed decisions may not
be a feasible option. A more cost-effective approach would be to offer community
college students access to more structured plans of study to navigate the first
two-years of college with a clear route to attaining an associate’s degree and/or
transferring to a four-year degree.
With a structured route, curricula may be designed to guide students to academic
pathways that will be beneficial to the U.S.’s prospects of remaining a competitive
force in knowledge and scientific production. For example, given the importance of
STEM fields, plans of study that lead students to pursue a STEM degree may be a
more affordable option (compared to hiring more counselors to communicate these
paths to students individually) that may result in shorter times to degree and in
greater likelihood of scientific production and economic growth for the country.

5.3.5 Looking at the Role of Place in Community College

Student Outcomes

A common omission across all the studies reviewed in this chapter entails the effect
of location on the assessment of community college effects. Although the estimates
obtained in the assessment of ULCA variation included state- and county-level
indicators, model specification did not control for other space-based effects given
community colleges’ proximity to four-year institutions. More specifically, consid-
ering that researchers have demonstrated that local availability of college options
positively influences students’ likelihood to apply to and enroll in college, future
studies should begin exploration of whether the local availability of four-year
institutions is associated with higher likelihood of four-year degree attainment by
initial two-year/community college entrants.
More specifically, studies of community college effects should prioritize examina-
tion of factors that may serve as mechanisms that would bolster the “stepping stone”
function of community colleges toward the attainment of a four-year degree, better
224 M. S. González Canché

employment outcomes, and lower ULCA. One such factor comes from the notion of
universities as “engines of growth” or “regional boosters” taken from the urban
economics and public policy literatures (Florax, 1992; Florax & Folmer, 1992; Gilbert,
McDougall, & Audretsch, 2008; Henderson, 2007; Lucas, 1988; Wallsten, 2001).
Following this notion, it may be hypothesized that that local availability of four-year
institutions may be associated with higher likelihood of four-year degree attainment by
initial two-year/community college entrants. This hypothesis formalizes assessment of
whether students attending community colleges situated within commuting distance
from four-year institutions realize higher levels of educational attainment than com-
parable two-year entrants without nearby four-year options. While this notion is
straightforward, more than forty years of research on community college students’
outcomes have not yet tested its validity. Future research that accounts for the
geographic locations of institutions of higher education is needed to assess the
feasibility of innovative ways in which academic (and eventually socioeconomic)
gaps due to initial college sector of attendance in the United States may be reduced.
Once again, the set of covariates identified and used in this chapter contained in
Table 5.4 can be used for model specification. The only methodological challenge
involved in the testing of this hypothesis is the successful identification of commu-
nity colleges that have four-year neighbors within commuting distance and commu-
nity colleges without such neighbors. This is challenging given that no previous
framework exists to guide the operationalization of commuting distance between
two- and four-year institutions. However, previous literature provides two opera-
tional and conceptual definitions of commuting distance for sensitivity and robust-
ness checks that may be applied in future research. The first definition of commuting
distance is taken from Rapino and Fields (2013), who estimated that commuters in
the U.S. typically travel 18.8 miles to work each way (margin of error ¼ (þ/)
0.01). While this definition is straightforward, it is important to consider that
commuting distances differ in rural and non-rural areas given the longer distances
usually traveled in the former. In this regard, Turley (2009) estimated that students
who lived in rural areas typically commuted twice the distance traveled by students
living in non-rural areas. This finding was based on the median commuting distance
of students living at home during college, taken from a nationally representative
sample. In this study, Turley (2009) found that students commuted a median distance
of 12 and 24 miles to school in non-rural and rural locations, respectively. Accord-
ingly, a first definition of commuting distance, following Rapino and Fields (2013),
that may be used in future research allows for a maximum distance of 20 miles in
non-rural and 40 miles in rural locations to identify community colleges with and
without four-year neighbors. Following Turley (2009), a second possible, more
conservative, definition of commuting distance accounts for a maximum travelling
distance of 12 and 24 miles in non-rural and rural areas, respectively. A visual
representation of both definitions of commuting distance is shown in Fig. 5.8.
The concept of spillover effects with respect to four-year institutions argues that
colleges and universities generate human capital spillovers (Henderson, 2007;
Lucas, 1988), thus implying that students attending community colleges in close
proximity to four-year institutions may be systematically different in their
5 Community College Effects 225

Fig. 5.8 Logic model followed to identify the presence of neighboring four-year institutions across
rural—24 (Turley, 2009) or 40 mile (Rapino & Fields, 2013) radii—and non-rural areas—12
(Turley, 2009) or 20 mile (Rapino & Fields, 2013) radii. In all specifications, the definition of
rural area was taken from the U.S. Department of Agriculture Economic Research Service under the
1993 and 2003 Rural-Urban Continuum Codes forms, classification schema. The criterion to define
rural area was having a population of 2500 to 19,999, not adjacent to a metro area (U.S. Department
of Agriculture Economic Research Service, 2013). The use of the 1993 and 2003 classifications
schemes mentioned above may be used to approximate time of enrollment captured in NELS, BPS,
and ELS surveys, for example. The implementation of the logic models relied on geographical
information systems techniques. To test for potential effect heterogeneity given sector of four-year
neighbors, models can or should examine public and private non-profit four-year neighbors
separately. Subsequently, the two sectors may be considered together in a single model that
incorporates sector as a predictor variable. Institutional characteristics of the neighboring institu-
tions should also be incorporated in modeling estimations. For more information about this process
and preliminary findings see González Canché, M. S. (2017b).

individual- and local-economy attributes when compared to students attending

community colleges without four-year neighbors. Geographical stratification (Liu,
2015) suggests that these differences are based on greater resources given students’
location. Although the literature on community colleges indicates that students tend
not to choose one particular community college over another but rather attend
226 M. S. González Canché

whichever community college is closest to their location, there remains a non-zero

probability that some community college students with expectations of attaining a
four-year degree select an institution for additional reasons. Consequently, while
some community college students enroll in institutions with four-year neighbors by
“default,” other students may enroll in community colleges with four-year neighbors
strategically. From either perspective, it may be that students attending two-year
institutions within commuting distance from four-year colleges differ systematically
in their access to resources and sources of support compared to students attending
community colleges without four-year neighbors. Consequently, models should test
for systematic differences across participants using empirically and theoretically
relevant variables taken from studies of sector effects on student outcomes that
capture individual, geographic, socioeconomic, and academic resources during
high school (as indicated in this chapter) before inferential claims are made.
While model identification and estimation is beyond the scope of this chapter, the
operationalization of the logic model presented in Fig. 5.8 has been completed while
relying on Geographical Network Analysis principles (González Canché, 2018)
across the two datasets included in this chapter (NELS and ELS). Table 5.5 shows
the empirical distribution of institutions identified following the logic model by
urbanity and neighboring statuses. It also reflects the representation of this universe

Table 5.5 Distribution of institutions identified following the logic model by urbanity and
neighboring statuses
Non-rural Π with respect to
Rural area area Total. totala
24 40 12 20 12 & 24 20 & 40 12 & 24 20 & 40
IPEDS universe
CC neighbor 5 17 371 472 376 489 – –
CC no neighbor 86 74 442 341 528 415 – –
Four-year neighbor 4 12 317 379 321 391 – –
Four-year no neighbor 37 29 259 197 296 226 – –
Total 132 132 1389 1389 1521 1521 – –
ELS sample
CC neighbor 2 5 296 368 298 373 .793 .763
CC no neighbor 34 31 265 193 299 224 .566 .540
Four-year neighbor 3 9 293 344 296 353 .922 .903
Four-year no neighbor 24 18 210 159 234 177 .791 .783
Total 63 63 1064 1064 1127 1127 .741 .741
NELS sample
CC neighbor 2 6 233 293 235 299 .625 .611
CC no neighbor 35 31 234 174 269 205 .509 .494
Four-year neighbor 4 9 260 315 264 324 .905 .829
Four-year no neighbor 27 22 225 170 252 192 .850 .850
Total 68 68 952 952 1020 1020 .671 .671
a
Π with respect to total refers to the ratio of the total of ELS and NELS samples and the
corresponding IPEDS universe
5 Community College Effects 227

Fig. 5.9 Empirical representation of the logic model across the contiguous U.S.A., public and
private non-profit four-year institutions (a) Empirical representation of 1st definition (20/40 miles),
(b) Empirical representation of 2nd definition (12/24 miles) (Source IPEDS, 2013)

in the ELS and NELS samples. Overall, note that ELS captured 74% of the total
universe across the contiguous US, whereas NELS captured 67%. The geographical
identification of these institutions is presented in Fig. 5.9.
The incorporation of location in the analysis of community college effects is
relevant for several reasons. First, although community colleges are certainly not at
liberty to select the distance from their closest four-year neighbors, if the hypothesis
of this new line of study presented here is corroborated, then recent high school
graduates who are considering beginning college in a public two-year institution
should be informed about the positive relationship between four-year proximity and
better student outcomes. For students who expect to use the two-year sector as the
228 M. S. González Canché

pathway toward a four-year degree, this information should translate into a stronger
likelihood of improving their transfer and eventual four-year graduation prospects. If
this hypothesis is not confirmed, then transfer agreements between neighboring two-
and four-year institutions may need to be assessed or reassessed as empirical
evidence would point to ill-functioning implementation or even absence of these
agreements based on geographic proximity. In addition, students who may consider
attending two-year institutions with four-year neighbors under the assumption of
positive externalities, should be made aware of the lack of relationship between four-
year neighbor presence and improvement in educational outcomes.
This line of research is also relevant given the population studied. As community
colleges clearly play a central role in the early formation of college students in the U.
S., particularly among low-income and minority students, the study of additional
factors that may positively affect these students’ odds of academic success should be
a national priority. For the U.S. to remain economically competitive, the role of the
community college as a stepping stone toward a four-year degree will need to be
strengthened as well. Knowledge is power, and people could be empowered by the
findings of the research proposed here.

5.3.6 Challenges and Opportunities in the Use of Big Data

in Higher Education Policy

The availability of large amounts of information along with increases in computing

power have prompted the need to develop innovative ways to collect, prepare,
analyze, and visualize data whose level of dimensionality (in terms of number of
units or participants [rows] and number of variables or indicators [columns] in a data
frame) is traditionally referred to as “big data.” The present chapter highlighted
opportunities related to the use of big and geocoded data in higher education analysis
with clear policy implications. Notably, the mere analysis of big data does not
warrant that results have relevant and/or timely implications from policy- and/or
decision-making perspectives. In this view, analysts should consider the following
challenges and opportunities when dealing with big data that may threaten the policy
relevance resulting from analysis conducted in higher education research. These
challenges, which the analytic framework employed in this chapter aimed to address,
are the following: (a) big data and sophisticated methods without relevant research
questions constitute a wasted opportunity, (b) when possible researchers should
incorporate more than one analytic sample as validity and robustness checks,
(c) researchers should prioritize testing for effect heterogeneity, and (d) researchers
should rely on critical lenses that aim at reducing inequality of opportunities and the
dismantlement of reproduction of vicious circles. Each of these challenges guided
the analytic framework implemented herein.
Another important challenge consists of training [higher] education researchers in
the critical analysis of big data that prioritize policy relevance and disruption
5 Community College Effects 229

inequalities. In this view, the message is clear: given the availability of large
amounts of data, graduate programs in education should continue investment in
the development of researchers’ critical-analytic skills. This training will not only
make them more marketable, but will also benefit the field in general.

5.4 Conclusions Related to the Educational, Occupational,

and ULCA Outcomes of Community Colleges

Based on the comprehensive analysis of the literature surrounding two-year stu-

dents’ outcomes in terms of salary and wage gains presented herein, it was con-
cluded that the two-year sector does indeed have a democratizing function in
U.S. society by improving students’ prospects of becoming socioeconomically
independent and self-sufficient. In this view, it is worth noting that while higher
education is a worthwhile investment for all, this investment is perhaps even more
important for the type of students historically served by the two-year sector. None-
theless, despite this democratizing function in terms of economic gains, the com-
munity college has yet to become a likely gateway to a bachelor’s degree.
Considering that competition for science and technology development continues to
tighten across the world, short-term degrees will not be enough for the U.S. to remain
competitive in science, technology, and knowledge production worldwide. Accord-
ingly, structural changes and strategies need to co-occur that extend well beyond
making community college attendance free.
The role of the community college has clearly been, and will remain, an important
component in the reduction of socioeconomic inequality in the United States.
Similarly, this sector has great potential to advance U.S. college completion rates
in that, with additional funding and better-structured pathways from the two- to four-
year sectors, it may play a pivotal role in the production of four-year degree holders
in economically important fields such as science and technology in the future.
However, the reality is that the two-year sector continues to be underfunded and
undervalued. Therefore, in its current state, this sector is unable to live up to its full
potential due to lack of financial resources and lack of effective mechanisms to
facilitate the transfer of students from the two- to the four-year sector. It is worth
noting that the reinforcement of the democratizing function of the public two-year
sector requires at least three actions: (a) the provision of additional funding at both
the federal and state levels, (b) more research to examine how both two- and four-
year institutions may improve successful transfer from the two- to the four-year
sector, thus promoting eventual attainment of a four-year degree, and (c) a renewed
recognition of this sector’s socioeconomic gap-closing role among underserved
communities in the United States. The results of the study presented in this chapter
overwhelmingly show that when the outcomes of students with similar levels of
academic attainment and divergent academic trajectories are analyzed, community
college students accrued less debt than their private non-profit counterparts. This
230 M. S. González Canché

lower cost of community colleges in terms of ULCA provide yet another piece of
evidence of the democratizing function of this sector.
The two-year sector additionally seems to be a better option for students who are
less likely to obtain a bachelor’s degree. Accordingly, if four-year “eligible” students
with lower probabilities of four-year degree attainment are recommended to start in
the two-year sector, such suggestions should not be understood as a cooling-out
function (Clark, 1960a). Ideally two- and four-year sector articulation agreements
should be strengthened along with transfer support services. Indeed, if students’
economic and social well-being is prioritized, transfer out initiatives should empha-
size that the attainment of an Associate’s degree (or at least certificate/diploma) is
mandatory before being eligible to transfer to the four-year sector. If students who
transferred find that the four-year sector is not for them and decide to leave, they
would at least have a credential (and the knowledge and skills associated with it) to
facilitate employment opportunity.
Although structural changes need to take place for the community college to
serve as an effective stepping stone toward the attainment of a four-year degree,
studies indicate that this sector continues to serve as a socioeconomic gap-closing
mechanism. Future studies need to incorporate geographic data and network analysis
as means to detect structural mechanisms that would enable two-year entrants to
navigate college with greater likelihood of success. In addition, predictive analytics
and probabilistic matching procedures should be implemented to detect students’
expected outcomes before such outcomes take place. These procedures should not be
considered as “cooling out functions” in the big and geocoded data era when
indicating that some students would be better served by beginning college in the
two-year rather than the four-year sector. To the contrary, recommendations based
on unbiased analyses should serve as mechanisms designed to prevent academic
failure with an increased debt burden (e.g., failing to attain any degree or credential
and accumulating debt burden). Notably, even in cases in which students attained
less-than-a-four-year credential, enrollment in the two-year sector was associated
with significant reductions in debt burden. Indeed, evidence indicates that for
students with no degree or an associate’s degree (or equivalent), reduction in debt
burden would have been maximized by beginning college in the two-year sector.
Analyses that highlight the democratizing role of the two-year sector should not only
consider educational attainment but also students’ prospects of financial well-being
and sustainability. The two-year sector has been thriving in the latter, but more work
is required to succeed in the former.

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Chapter 6
The Professoriate in International
Perspective

Joseph C. Hermanowicz

6.1 Introduction

My aim in this chapter is to consolidate the growing literature on the international

professoriate. This literature has burgeoned particularly over the past 15 years,
which is a response to the transformations that national higher education systems,
from the nascent to the most advanced, have experienced around the world. The
proliferation of this literature, as shall be made apparent, is now such that an
exhaustive cataloging is not practical. Instead my overall goal is to identify the
major clusters of work that animate research on the international professoriate and to
thereby reveal how important comparative work may proceed.
Any such endeavor requires some demarcation of boundaries, even as these
boundaries must be sometimes crossed when thinking about and researching one
part of a network of interconnected parts. I am here concerned with the professoriate,
that is, with the social order of people who, in varieties of arrangements, teach,
undertake research, and engage in scholarship in tertiary institutions of higher
learning. As such, the focus may be differentiated from a concern for the social
organization of universities, from national systems of higher education, or from the
institution of education, each type of structure in turn associated with particular sets
of prevailing issues.
Subsumed under the overall goal of the chapter are five concurrent aims: (1) to
identify the most prominent and pressing topics and themes in the current research
literature on the international professoriate; (2) to thereby codify and systematize
recent research undertakings; (3) to bring together bodies of work that might
otherwise escape the notice of those interested in specific sub-areas, or to scholars

J. C. Hermanowicz (*)
Department of Sociology, The University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 239

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_6
240 J. C. Hermanowicz

of particular countries, but which offer important bridges by which ground may be
connected; (4) to explore both substantive pay-offs and challenges in comparative
work, and; (5) to expose empirical and theoretic gaps in the work to-date which
present opportunities for significant conceptual advancement.
These aims, while seeking to impart benefits on students and scholars of the
international professoriate, prompt a prior question; namely, why study the interna-
tional version of something? As many know, it is enough of a challenge to study
smaller units of that something. Studying academics of France (e.g., Musselin,
2001), Great Britain (e.g., Halsey & Trow, 1971), the United States (e.g., Clark,
1987a), Japan (e.g., Arimoto, Cummings, Huang, & Shin, 2015), or any other
country, is arduous work.
All studies and how they are executed, depend, of course, on the specific
questions that motivate them. This methodological point notwithstanding, our
understanding comes only by comparison with something else. We are able to
understand and evaluate a professoriate of one country with reference to that of
another. It is not the only way to go about comprehending the professoriate
(we could compare it to other occupations and professions within nations, for
example), but it is arguably a profitable one.
More to the point, higher education is increasingly a key feature of modern social
organization throughout the world. Over 200 million students are enrolled in post-
secondary institutions globally, which represents a doubling in just the first twelve
years of the twenty-first century (Altbach, 2016). By 2030 it is estimated that student
enrollment will again double to 400 million (Altbach, 2016). These students are
taught by over six million post-secondary teachers, a number that in turn is likely to
grow as enrollments rise (Altbach, 2016). To a significant degree, higher education
around the world is institutionally set apart—conceptually and operationally—from
education at the primary and secondary levels. To that end, the people who constitute
the professoriate on which these workings rely merit researchers’ attention, in ways
akin to the family and kinship systems, the military, the economy, the polity, and
other facets of modern social organization.
Higher education, and the professoriate on which it depends, has, especially in the
last quarter-century, experienced globalization, often understood by an increased
integration of a world economy (King, Marginson, & Naidoo, 2013). Science,
technology, and scholarship are increasingly global in scope (Altbach, 2016).
Knowledge, research, researchers, and students are increasingly mobile and tran-
scend of national boundaries. Rankings of universities in which academics work are
themselves now global, all of which speaks to a kind of common ground that
sustains an increasingly institutional world-wide enterprise of endeavor (Altbach
& Balan, 2007; Clotfelter, 2010; Shin & Kehm, 2013). By this accord, the profes-
soriate warrants international, comparative investigation.
Finally, comparative inquiry may aid in identifying strengths and weaknesses in
and between the systems in which members of the professoriate carry out their work.
Here we are readily aware of the pretense that conventions and procedures found in
one part of the world are seamlessly imported elsewhere. If, however, we understand
through comparison, then even wide-ranging comparisons have the chance to
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 241

Chart 6.1 Organization of I. Part 1: Theoretic Foundations

the chapter
A. Conceptual Frameworks

1. Classic Contributions

2. Contemporary Contributions

B. Center and Periphery

C. Theoretic Puzzles: Convergence & Differentiation

D. Growth & Accretion

II. Part 2: Topical Forays

A. Academic Freedom

B. Contracts and Compensation

C. Career Structures and Roles

D. The “Changing Academic Profession” Project

III. Conclusion

deepen understanding and inform relevant policy interests by an expanded mindful-

ness of how things work under varied sets of conditions, whether close to, or far
from, home. Despite a proliferation of international work on the academic profes-
sion, important calls for still more comparative work, covering a broad range of
theoretic and policy-related higher education concerns, are voiced with advisories
that much needed work lies ahead (Perna, 2016).
The chapter proceeds with two encompassing parts. By way of organizational
clarity, I offer a visual map in Chart 6.1 of the terrain that the chapter will traverse. In
part one, theoretic foundations, I discuss conceptual frameworks for understanding
the professoriate comparatively, as well as the guiding ideas that inform a concep-
tualization of the professoriate internationally. I introduce the subject of conceptual
frameworks and then proceed in turn to a consideration of classic and then contem-
porary contributions. In part two of the chapter, topical forays, I identify the main
clusters of work, both analytic and empirical, that situate contemporary international
study of the professoriate. The forays include (1) academic freedom; (2) contracts
and compensation; (3) career structures and roles; and (4) an accounting of the
“Changing Academic Profession” project. I conclude the chapter with three sugges-
tions to enable future successful comparative work.
242 J. C. Hermanowicz

6.2 Part 1: Theoretic Foundations

A discussion of core theoretic concerns that inform the comparative study of the
international professoriate is organized into four parts: an explication of major
conceptual frameworks used to organize comparative inquiry and analysis, which
includes both classic and contemporary formulations (dating from the 1970s and
1980s in the case of the former, and from the 2000s in the case of the latter); a
consideration of a paramount metaphor, center and periphery, used in the compar-
ative study of international higher education, including the professoriate; an identi-
fication of theoretic puzzles that have emerged from comparative work, chiefly
involving the ideas of convergence and differentiation; and, finally, a recapitulation
of growth and accretion as forces deemed causal antecedents to change and evolu-
tion in a global professoriate.

6.2.1 Conceptual Frameworks

While the benefits to be gained from international comparative work—whether on

professors, state revolutions, or culinary cuisine—are potentially substantial, so are
the challenges, and arguably not a single comparative higher education researcher
has been remiss in noting this fact. The challenges center on the point in analytic
thinking at which meaningful comparisons and contrasts can be drawn. The closer
we get in comparison, the more the parts are apt to diverge. The further we back
away from comparison, the more the parts blur into unmeaningful generality. Even
the idea of an “academic profession” is riddled with problems. Neave and Rhoades
(1987), for instance, have ventured to exclaim that academia of Western Europe,
where academia has its oldest roots and most traditional customs, is not a profession,
but an “estate,” “whose power, privileges, and conditions of employment are
protected by constitutional or administrative law” (Neave & Rhoades, 1987,
p. 213). By this it is meant that the professoriate is tied to the state and that it is
national in its basis and orientation, as opposed to a free standing, largely autono-
mous profession. By their argument, “academia in Western Europe does not lend
itself to translation into terms equivalent to the Anglo-American concept of an
academic profession,” nor is academia understood there as one of the liberal pro-
fessions such as medicine or law (Neave & Rhoades, 1987, p. 220; see also
Musselin, 2001, p. 135, entry for “academic personnel”). Despite these assertions,
the term “estate” has not been adopted into the vocabulary of contemporary work.
Researchers more typically invoke the idea of a profession and carry out empirical
inquiry into a “professoriate,” while understanding its linkages to the state.
In the interests of taking a few steps forward, let us speak for our present purposes
of a professoriate in all countries that is defined by a constellation of teaching,
research, and service roles as part of their central occupation and socially understood
as the core academic staff in a given nation’s system of higher education—“the
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 243

‘productive workforce’ of higher education institutions and research institutes, the

key organizations in society serving the generation, preservation and dissemination
of systematic knowledge” (Cavalli & Teichler, 2010, p. S1). The constellation of
roles varies, to be sure, at extremes in different countries. In many countries,
including many in Africa, there is little or no research or scholarly role as part of
the professoriate. In other countries, such as Germany, the research role dominates.
In still other countries, such as the United States, service and teaching roles can
substitute for research in many institutions, including in the U.S. “research univer-
sity.” But these are the most basic points. These roles constitute the most general
similarity. When we dig further we quickly realize that the differences can be so
great that bases of comparison become highly problematic and thus subject to
litanies of qualification and caveat.
By simple analogy, we may observe fruit, but our exercise amounts to a compar-
ison of apples and oranges and pears. Terms such as “profession,” “professor,”
“teaching,” and “career,” among many others related to those who carry out tertiary
higher education, are complicated by national comparative idiosyncrasies (Teichler,
Arimoto, & Cummings, 2013). To take but one instance of the point, most higher
education teachers, from a world view, do not even hold a Ph.D. (Altbach, 2016,
p. 25, 300). (How can an individual without advanced training and certified creden-
tials be part of a profession? Strictly speaking they may be understood as members of
the academic occupation. The occupation may or may not be situated on a path of
professionalization akin to the forms found in some other parts of the world.)
Possession of a doctorate may be assumed for most academics in the United States,
Germany, France, England, Japan, and other highly developed education systems.
What is the German professoriate in comparison with that of Ethiopia? Clark (1993a,
p. 263) has put the problem as follows: “Any theory of convergence that highlights a
common drift. . .and similar forms. . .will need in time to shade into a theory of
divergence that observes individualized national evolutions.”
Nevertheless, some past and some recent work have confronted this difficult
challenge and attempted to provide theoretic structures in which to see substantive
similarities and differences that facilitate grounded, empirically robust comparative
understanding of the professoriate. It is important to identify the most fully elabo-
rated of these structures so that our awareness, renewed or newly made, is drawn to
them, and that, in doing so, we may search for still more sophisticated ways to
organize thought about and study of the international professoriate. The articulation
of these structures, deliberately selective but representative nonetheless, also provide
an important backdrop for the growing and scattered amount of empirical research
that characterizes the most recent activity in research on the professoriate, a subject
to which we shall return. These most recent empirical forays demand an order and
systemization, of the kind theoretic structures can provide, such that their contribu-
tions may be more fully explained.
While the following structures for comparative theoretic understanding of the
professoriate are arguably among the most fully elaborated, they will not be elabo-
rated fully here. Readers can refer to the original texts for a complete coverage.
Rather, the present aim is to identify points of differing emphasis, to highlight their
244 J. C. Hermanowicz

most salient features, and, to these ends, intimate how they—or contemporaneous
adaptations of them—can bring aid to the state of affairs in which current scholarship
on the international professoriate finds itself. The discussion proceeds to a consid-
eration of classic and then to contemporary contributions to frameworks used to
anchor comparative work conceptually.

6.2.1.1 Classic Contributions

In Centers of Learning, Ben-David (1977) laid a strong foundation for comparative

higher education analysis. His purpose was “to view the principal systems of higher
education in the Western world as historical entities, namely, to see in response to
what needs they first emerged, how they developed their structures, and how they
responded to changing needs and opportunities” (Ben-David, 1977, p. 3). The
systems he selected were those of Britain, France, Germany, and the United States.
The rationale was that these systems were dominant across the world landscape, and
were so because “they developed a high degree of all-around scientific excellence
and self-sufficiency over a long period of time” (Ben-David, 1977, p. 5).
Ben-David opts to go about comparative analysis by focusing on the chief
functions of higher education, explaining how the functions evolved in different
systems and how their evolution portended contemporary performance. For
Ben-David, the chief functions are five: professional education; general education;
research and training for research; social criticism; and social justice. The first three
of these functions are traditional and legitimate; the last two, new and illegitimate
that have been foisted upon higher education roughly at the start of the last third of
the twentieth century. He asserted at the time that by institutionalizing criticism and
justice as formal functions, higher education systems also formalized threats to
academic freedom and the autonomy of higher learning. Criticism and justice
were, by this view, manifestations of a politicization of, and thus a detriment to,
the academy. Ben-David’s serious concerns about the point can be seen to have
borne fruit. The intersection of purpose (e.g., freedom of inquiry in teaching and
research) and protection (i.e., constraint on speech, including, ironically, instances of
criticism) in universities has become a topic of mounting interest in universities,
perhaps especially in, but not limited to, the American context (Bilgrami & Cole,
2015; Fish, 2014; Gerstmann & Streb, 2006; Patai & Koertge, 2003; Slaughter,
2011).
In taking a functions-approach, the problem for Ben-David becomes one of
integrating the functions, so that nations constitute a “well-functioning system” of
higher education; these four dominant national systems went about this task differ-
ently. An ascendance in the importance in research, beginning in the eighteenth
century but rising to a crescendo in the mid- and late-twentieth century (and
thereafter), raised many problems for universities. For Ben-David there exists an
inherent tension of “linking education (which is essentially the transmission of a
tradition) with research (the transformation of a tradition)” (Ben-David, p. 97).
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 245

The German system, most committed to research, supported a relatively weak

general education to students not seeking to pursue a research or scientific career.
The French system made little effort to incorporate research into the universities,
culminating decades later in what Musselin (2001) has described as the “long march
of the French universities” that sought a corrective re-integration of research and,
consequently, a heightened university influence in French politics, policy, intellec-
tual and cultural life. The British system integrated research and teaching more
successfully, with an acknowledgement that some areas of research could not be
fashioned with the universities’ educational functions. The result was the creation of
institutes. Examples of such institutes include those covering areas of biotechnology,
cancer research, and actuarial science. In the United States, to the extent there was a
relatively harmonious balance, it was seriously jolted following World War II, when
a tremendous influx of research and scientific funds aided an ascendance in the
disciplines and the empowerment of the specialist-professor (Jencks & Riesman,
1968). Even at the time of Ben-David’s writing, long after the War, the American
system was grappling with readjustment and newly posed problems of a well-
aligned research-teaching configuration in its national higher education system.
For all of his scholarly and personal association with the scientific role and the
scholarly values that universities should espouse (Greenfeld, 2012), Ben-David
claimed that it was crucial to attend to the education of the general student for, as
Vogt (1978, p. 91) put it, “money is in the ‘FTE’s’, not research.” Universities must
“settle down to a realistic rate of [scientific] growth” (Ben-David, 1977, p. 173).
Interestingly, by his reasoning, the welfare of higher education systems throughout
the world depend largely on how they direct resources to general education.
Ben-David’s work was prescient. Universities globally now confront the challenge
of educating unprecedented numbers of undergraduate students, but they also
attempt to integrate a global press for prestige garnered by scientific research
(Shin, Toutkoushian, & Teichler, 2011; Yudkevich, Altbach, & Rumbley, 2016).
Despite Ben-David’s predictions in 1977, when he claimed the U.S. system best
positioned to evolve in functionally beneficial ways, it is arguably unclear which
type of national system is best arranged to accommodate the new proportions of
these historic demands. Shin and Teichler (2014a), extrapolating from Ben-David a
Humboltian model, a Napoleonic model, and an Oxbridge model of higher educa-
tion, offer important insights into how contemporary conditions of global higher
education may be understood in the context of prior theoretic formulations. This
discussion is expanded in Teichler (2014a), but a theoretic resolution of the prob-
lems—given the contemporary magnitude and scope of teaching/research pressures
on systems—remains to be worked-out. In addition, Arimoto (2014) adopts a
language of the “teaching-research nexus,” which in reformulated terms was so
central to Ben-David’s earlier theorizing, in order to outline an historical argument
about how universities’ vital functions have evolved over time. For still additional
treatments of the research-teaching relationships, which reflect contemporary devel-
opments in a broad array of countries, see the 21 chapters in Shin, Arimoto,
Cummings, and Teichler (2014).
246 J. C. Hermanowicz

Whereas Ben-David’s mode of comparative entré consisted of higher education

functions, which the professoriate was socially mandated to carry out, Clark (1983),
in The Higher Education System: Academic Organization in Cross-National Per-
spective, changes the comparative lens and instead focuses on concepts: the concepts
of knowledge, beliefs, and authority which, he contended, constitute a normative
structure, variegated across national systems, in which governance and decision-
making in higher education may be understood. Whereas for Ben-David, the pro-
fessoriate was the chief implicated actor, for Clark the professoriate explicitly
competes (and often struggles) to accomplish educational objectives with multiple
entities and political groups, chief among them the state and the market. While
keenly aware of and sensitive to the importance of “function,” Clark’s rendition of
comparative framing is, while well short of what popularizers might call “Marxist,”
considerably more conflictual.
Clark’s purpose was to understand the variation in the national structure of
academic systems, why such variation arose, and how such variation reflects orga-
nizational solutions to tensions in respective systems. In so doing, Clark also
conveys how systems vary by virtue of different historical circumstances and
cultural traditions as well as how systems, in light of their social evolution, treat
political and demographic challenges. Clark’s comparisons were based on the
United States, the United Kingdom, Japan, East and West Germany, Sweden,
France, Italy, Australia, Poland, Yugoslavia, Mexico, and Thailand, but these are
frequently collapsed as Continental, British, American, and Japanese models. Fur-
ther still, he understands the British, German, French, and American systems as
models for the higher education systems found, or to be developed, in other
countries. He did so by arguing that these systems were the most “mature” and
thus having had developed a capacity of modeling. This modeling constitutes a
large-scale instantiation of “academic drift” usually reserved to characterize the
status aspirations of institutions within national systems. Here, system-level arrange-
ments are selected and studied because nations with younger and developing
systems seek to emulate them. Clark’s 1995 work, Places of Inquiry, reprises a
visit to the systems in the Federal Republic of Germany, Britain, France, the United
States, and Japan (see also the edited collection of essays on the higher education
systems of these countries, especially pertaining to graduate education and research
[Clark, 1993b]).
As for Clark’s original guiding concepts, they are deployed in The Higher
Education System as research questions: How is academic work, organized around
knowledge, arranged? How are beliefs, the symbolic side of institutional existence,
maintained? How is authority distributed? And also, incorporating knowledge,
belief, and authority as interacting parts, how does change take place? He finds his
answers in the exchanges and contests among a multi-layered configuration of
organizational entities: in disciplines (exemplifying professorial, collegial, and
guild-like control); in enterprises—colleges and universities (exemplifying trustee
and bureaucratic control); and in the larger system (exemplifying government,
political interest group, and professorial-organization control). To understand the
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 247

operation of disciplines, enterprises, and systems is to understand the dynamics of

power wielded by politicians, bureaucrats, and professors at the postulated levels of
analysis.
On the Continent, for example, Clark argues that guild authority (authority vested
in a group of artisans who control the terms of their craft) and state bureaucracy have
led to weak enterprise authority. In Britain, collegial authority mixed with trustee
authority have led to greater state influence. In the United States, trustees and
administrators are strong, but are counter balanced by guild and bureaucratic author-
ity of departments. For Clark, Japan constitutes a blend of American and Continental
forms: faculty guilds of a small set of universities dominate the system by their
capacity to work with a state bureaucracy and they co-exist with a larger set of less
politically influential faculties and institutions (Herbst, 1985).
Clark introduced a major conceptual tool of continuing utility: a triangle of
coordination in which national systems of higher education could be mapped
according to the gravity that pulled them in the direction of, and by which they
accordingly assumed a typifying structure, stated as: (1) state authority; (2) the
market, or; (3) academic oligarchy (1983, p. 143), where academic oligarchy refers
to “the imperialistic thrust of modes of authority. . .in the way that personal and
collegial forms, rooted in the disciplinary bottom of a system, work their way
upward to have an important effect on enterprise and then finally system levels”
(Clark, 1983, p. 122). By “imperialistic,” Clark means dominant and ascendant as a
form. The crux of authority in the academic oligarchy is the professor by virtue of
disciplinary expertise. (For a critique of the triangle of coordination construct,
including overlooked nuances of authority constellations within academic oligar-
chies, see Brennan, 2010).
The location of national systems on the triangle of coordination are different,
often dramatically, between what Clark saw in 1983 and what higher education
researchers see today, a point which underscores, rather than negates, the triangle’s
conceptual utility. Nevertheless, it is noteworthy to observe both a changed mapping
of systems onto the triangle, in which especially the market has assumed a principal
coordinating influence on academe, and a changed language to characterize inter-
national higher education. “We have observed,” Clark wrote in 1983, “. . .that
national systems can legitimately be ruled by professors. . .Operating as the major
professional group. . .they have had, in many systems of the world, privileged access
to central councils and offices, and they have been the most important constituency
to please for top bureaucrats and political officials” (Clark, 1983, p. 122). He also
recognized distortions of analytic thinking: “It does not make much sense to evaluate
business firms according to how much they act like universities. . .Neither does it
make any sense to do the reverse” (Clark, 1983, p. 275).
Yet this appears to be precisely a direction in which higher education systems,
and authorities of them in many parts of the world, have gravitated, especially the
United States and Europe. Brennan (2010, p. 234) observes: “In the English-speak-
ing world at least, it is difficult to escape the conclusion that many key actors, both
inside and outside higher education, do in fact expect universities to behave like
248 J. C. Hermanowicz

businesses.” Similarly, Hüther and Krücken (2016, p. 56) use Clark’s foundational
work for its juxtaposition with historical developments:
. . .[F]rom the 1980s onwards, traditional European university structures have been facing
significant changes. The starting point was changes in the British university system (Leisyte,
de Boer, & Enders, 2006; Risser, 2003) that quickly spread to the Scandinavian countries
and the Netherlands (de Boer & Huisman, 1999; de Boer, Leisyte & Enders, 2006). Later we
find reforms in France (Mignot Gerard, 2003; Musselin, 2014), Italy (Capano, 2008),
Germany (Hüther & Krücken, 2013, 2016; Kehm & Lanzendorf, 2006), and Eastern
European countries (Dobbins & Knill, 2009; Dobbins & Leisyte, 2014). In recent years,
research has shown a move in nearly all European countries toward. . .NPM [New Public
Management].

Further, whereas for Clark the beliefs of “liberty” and “loyalty” were central to
academic organization (Clark, 1983, pp. 247–251), Brennan (among others) sug-
gests that these values have been replaced by such ideals as “competitiveness” and
“entrepreneurship” (Brennan, 2010, p. 234; also Marginson & Considine, 2000;
Slaughter, 1993; Slaughter & Rhoades, 2004). Even the value Clark sees assigned to
“competence” (Clark, 1983, p. 245–247), seemingly so central to the order of higher
education because of its alleged meritocratic premises, may be questioned in ways
today as unlike previously (Hermanowicz, 2013). For instance, the world-wide
enlargement of the professoriate to meet demands of rising student enrollment, as
well as concomitant changes in appointment type, call faculty quality, training, and
ability into question (Altbach, 2002, 2003; Enders & de Weert, 2009a). In Chart 6.2,
I list the core ideas, discussed above, that are used with the illustrative figures
associated with classical formulations of studying the professoriate comparatively.

6.2.1.2 Contemporary Contributions

Reflecting changes in system environments, Enders (2001a) has proposed a concep-

tual framework that reformulates Clark’s original triangle of coordination. His
contributions—along with those identified below—illustrate among the more recent
ways to conceive comparative study of academics. We thus encounter a simulta-
neous shift from, and a building upon, earlier theorizing as seen illustratively in
foundational works of Ben-David (1977) and Clark (1983).
Enders notes that control of higher education institutions has shifted away from
academic oligarchy toward market and state control. But Enders contends that new
actors have also emerged that constrain decision-making and degrade guild author-
ity. These new actors, operating in conjunction with the state, the market, and the
academic oligarchy, compose three sets: “stakeholders,” who play roles in financing
and governing institutions; “university management,” which consists of growing
echelons of administrators, and; “other university members,” which include the
voices and votes of staff as well as students in the conduct of university affairs.
For a figure of this model, see Enders (2001a, p. 5).
“Stakeholders” have entered the stage via channels of intensified fundraising
activities and industry partnerships. “University managers” have appeared as a result
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 249

Illustrative Figure Core Ideas

Joseph Ben-David Functions of Professoriate to Understand

• Professional Education
• General Education
• Research & Training for Research
• Social Criticism
• Social Justice

Centrality of general education

Burton Clark Organizing Concepts to Study

• Knowledge
• Beliefs
• Authority

Centrality of “triangle of coordination”

• State Authority
• The Market
• Academic Oligarchy

Chart 6.2 Key elements of the classic tradition in studying the professoriate comparatively

of accretion of university functions as well as an accountability movement that

entails an “audit culture” and a regime of reporting activity within universities
(Lucas, 2006; Power, 1997; Tuchman, 2009). “Other university members” emerged
as actors in the management of universities (and encroachment on the professoriate)
via gains in political power that were achieved in the 1970s and which have
intensified subsequently. In this last case, the American system, for instance,
witnessed a transformation in academic governance through senates of universities
and corresponding nomenclature: once such entities were the province of “faculty
governance.” Now, in most public U.S. institutions, they are the vehicles of “uni-
versity governance,” with staff councils and student assemblies seated alongside
professors and cadres of administrators to ratify institutional policy.
The model that Enders proposes builds directly upon Clark’s (1983). It seeks to
account for the historical developments in international systems of higher education,
particularly in Europe, across the last quarter of the twentieth century, which have
continued to intensify in the first quarter of the twenty-first century. By accounting
for these historical changes, and in identifying the new sets of actors that re-make
constellations of authority in universities and in higher education systems, the
professoriate is de-centered in two senses. First, and most transparently, collegial
control and guild power are diminished. The dynamics of which Clark (1983) spoke
at the level of department and discipline (quite apart from the level of enterprise and
system) are taken away, weakened, and/or overshadowed, by competing forces
exogenous to units of faculty. Put differently, the process illustrates
deprofessionalization. Second, it may be said that these specific changes in and
transfers of authority leave in question precisely how the professoriate should be
250 J. C. Hermanowicz

studied and understood. In this sense, the professoriate is de-centered from analysis,
in that the story, once of and about the academic staff, is increasingly a story of other
things. The subject of professors begins to get co-opted by research concerns
increasingly formulated as matters of management and governance. Department
and discipline remain real entities, but interests in the state and the market have
increasingly occluded them, both tangibly and intellectually.
Like Enders, Finkelstein (2015) seeks to develop a conceptual framework of
international academe that is responsive to the most contemporary conditions.
Finkelstein’s approach is to posit five provisional models of the professoriate loosely
tied to specific national contexts around the world. The models include: (1) the state-
centered model; (2) the institutionally anchored model; (3) the part-time professional
model; (4) the communitarian model, and; (5) the hybrid model.
The state-centered model, exemplified by nations such as Germany, France, and
Italy, is distinguished by the terms of faculty employment. Faculty are government,
not institutional, employees, and thus operationally faculty are hired, promoted, and
rewarded by a central government. While state-centered, the model also entails
measurable faculty control, because the central government does not dictate orders,
and because institutional powers tend to be weak in light of de facto state-organizing
authority. A consequence is a splintering of authority hierarchically, in which senior
academic staff, or chairs, are markedly differentiated from junior academic staff
(Finkelstein, 2015, pp. 321–322).
The institutionally anchored model, exemplified by nations such as the United
States, the United Kingdom, and Canada, is an opposite of the state-centered model.
Individual universities operate as the units in which academic careers are pursued,
regulated, and rewarded. In contrast to the state-centered model, careers are more
predictable and paths to seniority clear. Disciplines are arranged horizontally into
academic departments that emphasize collegial control over hierarchy, even in the
presence of a system of academic ranks (Finkelstein, 2015, pp. 322–323).
The part-time professional model, exemplified especially by Latin American
countries, is characterized by centralized government control, weak institutional
administrations, and a largely part-time faculty. Throughout Latin America, faculty
consist of groups of professionals who teach part-time in professional education
programs that confer a first academic degree in fields such as business, engineering,
law, and medicine. For the most part this has entailed an absence of a full-time
university faculty, and academic appointments are understood as ancillary to pro-
fessional careers outside of institutions. Generally, little concern thus exists about
trajectories of academic careers, and faculty, owing to a weak institutional integra-
tion, play little role in university governance (Finkelstein, 2015, pp. 323–324).
The communitarian model, exemplified by China in particular, stresses the idea of
community in which members both live and work. First academic appointments are
often based on sponsorship by current members, who may also possess family or
social ties to recruits. As Finkelstein (2015, p. 324) states, “The university is a place
of residence, family and community life, leisure and commercial activity—as well as
work.” Careers in this context of community are predicated not only on academic
obligations but also informal rules of communal life. Indeed, according to
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 251

Illustrative Figure Core Ideas

Jurgen Enders Reformulation of Clark’s “triangle of

coordination” to incorporate new actors

Centrality of:
• “stakeholders”
• “university management”
• “other university members”

Martin Finkelstein Responsiveness to contemporary plurality of

professoriate

Centrality of Models of the Professoriate

• State-centered model
• Institutionally anchored model
• Part-time professional model
• Communitarian model
• Hybrid model

Chart 6.3 Key elements of the contemporary tradition in studying the professoriate comparatively

Finkelstein, disciplinary responsibilities are secondary to community ones

(Finkelstein, 2015, p. 324).
Finally, the hybrid model, exemplified most approximately by Japan, is argued to
include at least one major element of the preceding four models. Japan’s professo-
riate is significantly differentiated by the public versus the private sector. The public
sector operates more akin to the state-centered model, while the private sector more
akin to the institutionally anchored model. At Japan’s national universities, faculty
exert considerable authority even as budgets are allocated from a ministry. Budgets
are in turn determined by precedent rather than by enrollment or research produc-
tivity. By contrast, in the private sector, the ministry sets enrollment targets, but
individual institutions determine faculty appointments and working conditions
(Finkelstein, 2015, p. 325).
In Chart 6.3 I list the core ideas, discussed above, that are used with the
illustrative figures associated with contemporary formulations of studying the pro-
fessoriate comparatively.

6.2.2 Center and Periphery

Many of the major analytic frameworks for understanding the international profes-
soriate comparatively, whether articulated decades ago or more recently, make use of
a metaphor, expressed both in the empirical bases of the frameworks and in their
theoretic formulations. The metaphor consists of center and periphery. In its usage
in higher education, “centers” refer to loci of the most important thought, great
252 J. C. Hermanowicz

intellectual energy, and the source from which transformative intellectual power
flows. By turn, “peripheries” are places outside the center where intellectual activity
can occur but on smaller scales. Their definition is set in terms of their relationship to
a center. Centers are endowed with charismatic authority, peripheries not
so. Sometimes the usage of the metaphor is explicit, as in the work of Ben-David
(e.g., 1977) and Altbach (e.g., 2003), at other times implicit, as in Clark’s work (e.g.,
1983). Elsewhere, such as with Enders and Finkelstein, they are not specifically
used. Empirically, the major comparative frameworks, such as those of Ben-David
and Shils, as discussed in the preceding sections of the chapter, have been based on
examinations of the most mature and/or most successful higher education systems,
where arguably the oldest and/or most successful instantiations of the professoriate
are found (i.e., Britain, France, Germany, and Continental systems writ large, and the
United States). These are centers. What remains is the periphery, where specific
cases of a national professoriate are proximal to the center in varying degrees (e.g.,
Japan’s professoriate is closer to the idea of a center than that of South Africa’s, even
as South Africa’s professoriate has developed significantly over time, and is thus
closer to a center than it once was). Most of the major frameworks use this metaphor
in turn to make comparative inferences about the professoriate, both in its instanti-
ations at the center (explicitly the task of Ben-David’s and Clark’s master works) and
in its instantiations on the periphery, vis-à-vis a far or near center (explicitly the task
of Altbach’s work [e.g., Altbach, 2003]). Clearly, though, in comparative work on
the professoriate of the most theoretic sort, Britain, France, Germany, and the United
States have been covered far more extensively than other countries, a point not lost
on those of us who study academics (Musselin, 2011, pp. 423–424).
Forms of the professoriate and the issues affecting it, as found at the center, are
mirrored on the periphery. Thus, by this orientation, despite cultural differences
across national systems, and extending from affluent to middle-income and devel-
oping countries, forms and problems of the professoriate are finite. They are versions
of something, having previously played-out in some way, somewhere else. As
Altbach (2003) argues, a generalized evolution is explained by the fact that univer-
sities in industrialized countries set the patterns for all countries. Musselin has
explained that “[d]eveloping countries are therefore in a world of ‘peripherality’
or, to put it more crudely, in a situation of dependence on resources, importation of
knowledge, access to technologies, attractiveness, value setting, and the like. As a
result, the academic profession in those countries is the same as the academic
profession in industrialized countries writ large. . .” (Musselin, 2011, p. 427).
Using African nations as a point of reference, Altbach elaborates that the French
model was imposed by colonial power in many countries on the African continent,
“but that even in Ethiopia, [and outside of Africa, in] Thailand, and Japan, where
foreign academic patterns were not imposed, European models prevailed over
existing indigenous academic traditions. Following independence, when developing
countries had the chance to change the nature of the university, none chose to do so”
(Altbach, 2003, pp. 3–4). Parallel points are made about many Asian nations and still
other African nations with respect to the British model of higher education (Altbach
& Umakoshi, 2004; Ashby, 1966).
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 253

In its usage in higher education, and for the study of the professoriate specifically,
the center-periphery construct owes its formulation to the thinking of Shils (1961
[1975]). And we may note how a line of professional descent between Shils and
Ben-David and between Shils and Altbach helps to account for the importance that
this device has played in the oeuvre of these exceptionally creative and influential
scholars. As Shils conceived it:
The center, or central zone, is a phenomenon of the realm of values and beliefs. It is the
center of the order of symbols, of values and beliefs, which govern the society. It is the center
because it is the ultimate and irreducible. . .The central zone partakes of the nature of the
sacred. . .The center is also a phenomenon of the realm of action. It is a structure of activities,
of roles and persons, within the network of institutions. It is in these roles that the values and
beliefs which are central are embodied and propounded. . .The section of the [world]
population which does not share in the exercise of authority and which is differentiated in
secondary properties from the exercisers of authority, is usually more intermittent it its
‘possession’ by the central value system. For one thing, the distribution of sensitivity to
remote, central symbols is unequal. . .Furthermore, where there is more marginal participa-
tion in the central institutional system, attachment to the central value system is more
attenuated (Shils, 1961 [1975] p. 3 &13).

Center and periphery concern fundamentally degrees of societal integration into

an order of things, in this instance, an integration of formal learning, teaching, and
discovery into a society and culture. Some higher education systems are highly
developed, that is, highly integrated into the broader order and fabric of a national
culture and society. This integration is both cause and consequence of a system’s
linkages to other systems around the globe. Other higher education systems are less
integrated, and, once upon a time, still others had yet to be developed (e.g., Brazil’s
first university, the University of Rio de Janeiro, was created in 1920 and remained
the country’s only university for many years [Schwartzman, 2011]). By further
example, the present higher education systems of Myanmar and North Korea are
comparatively undeveloped and thus, by this conception, comparatively peripheral
to the central zones of higher learning (Altbach, 2016, p. 244). Still, the cases of
Myanmar and North Korea are now ones of only a handful of national higher
education systems around the world that are this nascent.
This fact directs us to a larger point. Rise in post-secondary enrollments around
the world exerts pressure on peripheries to develop. Development is modeled on
other systems. The systems found in Central and Eastern Europe, for example, are
directly patterned on the German model (Altbach, 2002); many systems in African
nations are patterned on the University of Paris and increasingly on the American
model (Altbach, 2003), and so on. Thus, “centers” multiply; some peripheral
systems develop to become more central. New peripheries—emergent systems in
countries, and new institutions in developing systems—are born to accommodate
new demands for higher education, science, and technological training. This growth
and mimicry results in an expanding institutionalization of finite forms and, also, of
problems that arise in them (e.g., how to deal systemically and institutionally with
continued growth; how to compensate a professoriate amidst competing demands on
the State; how to recruit and, in effect, constitute a professoriate, and the like).
254 J. C. Hermanowicz

6.2.3 Theoretic Puzzles: Convergence & Differentiation

A present concern in the literature on the international professoriate encompasses the

idea of convergence. The idea holds that, where once the professoriate was highly
differentiated by country, it is increasingly isomorphic, insofar as its basic form and
accompanying problems are concerned (Shin & Kehm, 2013; Teichler, 2014b).
Convergence is an expression of institutional theory in the field of sociology
(Meyer & Rowan, 1977; also Meyer, 1977; Meyer, Kamens, Benavot, & Cha,
1992; Meyer, Ramirez, & Soysal, 1992). Institutional theory is an explanation of
change in educational systems, structures, and their content (Bentley & Kyvik,
2012).
. . .institutional views stress the dependence of local social organization on wider environ-
mental meanings, definitions, rules, and models. The dependence involved goes well beyond
what is normally thought of as causal influence in the social sciences: in institutional
thinking, environments constitute local situations—establishing and defining their core
entities, purposes, and relations (Meyer, Ramirez, Frank, & Schofer, 2007, p. 188).

Meyer et al. (2007) argue that the form and meaning of higher education has been
institutionalized throughout the world. This means that constructs such as “univer-
sity” or “professor” or “student” or “course” “may be locally shaped in minor ways
but at the same time have very substantial historical and global standing” (Meyer
et al., 2007, p. 187). What is more, “universities and colleges, together with their
disciplinary fields and academic roles, are defined, measured, and instantiated in
essentially every country in explicitly global terms” (Meyer et al., 2007, p. 188).
Institutional theory predicts isomorphic change in education organizations and in the
professoriate in ways that mimic the practices found in the most successful (e.g.,
highly-ranked) universities and related national systems (Bentley & Kyvik, 2012).
The university and its constitutive parts are, by this view, universalizing as part of a
world society (Ramirez & Meyer, 2013).
This theoretic view, while itself institutionalized and influential, is contested.
Cummings (2003), in a comparative study of six countries—Germany, France,
England, the United States, Japan, and Russia—offers an historical comparative
view of the evolution of educational systems. Cummings adopts a perspective that
follows ideas of the sociologist Max Weber, in which national systems may be
viewed as ideal societal types. Each type promulgates a “concept of the ideal
person,” which tend to be resistant to change. When change does occur, it tends
not to involve dramatic, structural transformation, but refinement of preexisting
patterns (Arnove, 2005).
This perspective harkens back to Clark (1983; 1993a), who specified that changes
in higher education systems occur in contexts of local traditions, historical circum-
stances, and cultural contexts. In outlining distinct archetypes of education, Cum-
mings averts a unilinear theory of modernization, as indicative of an institutional
approach. He acknowledges a degree of convergence in which Western nation states
have diffused educational templates internationally. But Cummings assigns greater
importance to ongoing variations and the survival of distinct organizational forms
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 255

(Davies, 2004). Cummings’ project is to demonstrate the cultural plurality of

institutions of education. He thus rejects arguments of global isomorphic change.
Institutional theory and the idea of convergence are also marred by seeming
contradictions in the research literature. On the one hand is the idea of growing
sameness; on the other, an idea of intensifying difference. For example, Enders
speaks of a “profession of professions.” “Faculty are the heart and soul of higher
education and research. But they are not one heart and one soul. . .the idea that there
is a single academic profession becomes more and more contested” (Enders, 2011,
p. 9). Separate disciplines and fields may, for example, be taken as distinct pro-
fessions. Drawing on Clark (1987a), Enders (2006) identifies four important axes
that differentiate the academic profession internationally: discipline or academic
specialty, sector or institution, an internal ranking system, and national differences
(also Clark, 1987b). Teichler (2010) and Altbach (2016), among others, explain how
the contemporary international professoriate is marked by a growing diversification
on a wide range of counts.
Further, seeming contradiction is evident in ideas of “community.” Institutional
theory, with its isomorphic claims, could be interpreted as possessing a power to lay
a ground for a sense of “one-ness” or “we-ness” in an international professoriate. Yet
scholars of the professoriate have made just the opposite claims. Much to the
contrary, they instead speak repeatedly of a fracturing of the professoriate, in single
nations let alone the world at large, into many segments, and to the decline of a sense
of community (Altbach, 2002, p. 162, 2016, p. 286; Clark, 1987a; Hermanowicz,
2009).
What is interesting theoretically is that the same force is attributed as the causal
driver of convergence on the one hand and differentiation on the other. This is,
namely, the force of massification, which makes the conceptual contradictions more
analytically fulsome. By turn, enrollment growth is said to drive systems and
institutions to be more alike globally; at the same time it is attributed as a differen-
tiating force on multiple levels—institution, national system, and international
educational form. These apparent contradictions require analytic reconciliation. A
possible course of such reconciliation is to suggest theoretically, and empirically
verify, a convergence in structure of higher education systems globally, but a
splintering in the culture of institutions—that is, in how academic work is experi-
enced by academic staff. By this account, systems around the world are growing in
size and consolidating in structure. But consolidation of structure does not shield
(and may even facilitate) the effects of size on culture, and thus community. Such
examples of theorizing require empirical treatment and focused analytic attention.
The identification of massification as a carrier of such significant structural and
cultural change for the professoriate is itself so notable a point that it merits its own
attention. It is thus a subject to which we turn.
256 J. C. Hermanowicz

6.2.4 Growth and Accretion

Trow’s classic 1974 essay was prescient, beginning with its first sentence:
In every advanced society the problems of higher education are problems associated with
growth. . .These problems arise in every part of higher education—in its finance; in its
government and administration; in its recruitment and selection of students; in its curriculum
and forms of instruction; in its recruitment, training, and socialization of staff; in the setting
and maintenance of standards; in the forms of examinations and the nature of qualifications
awarded; in student housing and job placement; in motivation and morale; in the relation of
research to teaching; and in the relation of higher education to the secondary school system
on the one hand, and to adult education on the other—growth has its impact on every form of
activity and manifestation of higher education (Trow, 1974 [2010], pp. 88–89).

Trow’s timelessly relevant contribution was to underscore a universalistic dynamic

force in modern higher education systems. As Clark (1993b, p. 263) has put it: “The
base similarity of modern systems of higher education is that they become more
complex,” and this similarity and complexity are at once adduced to be driven by
expansion.
Customarily in the research literature, the subject of growth—explicit or
implied—is student enrollment. But it is a mistake to believe that strictly student
enrollment is growth’s sole modifier. While Trow paid close attention to the pro-
foundly altering force that enrollments exert on higher education systems, including
the shape, form, and character of the professoriate, his concern for growth was not
restricted to “numbers of students.”
His concern, and those of select others, extended to “growth in what universities
take on to do,” which, one might say ironically, creates dysfunction. The growth
extends from the addition of particular academic and/or professional schools (engi-
neering, medicine, health, and law, for example) to the addition of particular offices
(such as health clinics, career and placement centers, study abroad programs, student
social and extracurricular programming). One might say this is ironic because
universities assume greater responsibilities in the name of service: to serve more
people and constituencies, and in so doing to serve them better. Yet much is often
compromised by this growth: clarity of mission, and an ability to do all things well.
Smelser (2013) has offered a theory of accretion, in which higher education
grows by adding functions, structures, and constituencies, but seldom sheds them,
resulting in increasingly complex organizations. For Smelser, accretion embodies a
theory of system- and institution-level change. In practice, accretion entails the very
kinds of problems posed by rises in enrollments as indicated by Trow. A major
theoretic point is not to restrict causal attributions of change in higher education,
including growth in the global professoriate, to student numbers (Metzger, 1987).
Instead it is more theoretically robust to understand expansion in terms that encom-
pass both growth in enrollment and accretion in function. To date, however, far more
attention has been paid to the former than to the latter.
The United States was the first country to create a mass higher education system.
It has thus been also a system, but clearly by no means the only system, in which to
see and study dramatic effects on, and structural and cultural consequences for, the
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 257

professoriate. Given its first brushes with massification, the United States has served
as a model for other countries to examine as they opened access to higher education
(Altbach & Forest, 2011). Mass access to higher education is now a reality in most of
the world. Industrialized countries enroll approximately 30% of the relevant college-
going age group, and developing countries will confront major enrollment growth in
the next decades (Altbach & Forest, 2011, p. 2). Indeed China has already eclipsed
the United States as the largest academic system in the world, even though it
presently enrolls about twenty percent of its college-going age group (Altbach &
Forest, 2011, p. 2). Dramatic growth has only just begun to occur in parts of the
developing world such as sub-Saharan Africa and in the countries of Southeast Asia.
Still, of the ten largest open-access universities in the world, nine are in developing
countries (Altbach & Forest, 2011, p. 2). What is more, in response to demand, a
private sector of higher education has grown significantly in many parts of the world,
including in countries where once the public sector dominated, such as in several
countries in Latin America (Altbach & Forest, 2011).
Finally, it is worth making explicit an additional set of patterns that have come to
characterize the professoriate on an international scale, and which operate—again
ironically—in correspondence with the patterns of growth and accretion. These
corresponding patterns consist in narratives of decline (Enders & de Weert,
2009b, p. 251). Everywhere in the world, the professoriate is said to be “in decline.”
Perhaps the academic profession, wherever it has existed, has always been in
decline, at least in perception. The perception has certainly existed for at least four
decades, evident in Academics in Retreat (Deutsch & Fashings, 1971), The New
Depression in Higher Education (Cheit, 1971), “The Crisis of the Professoriate”
(Altbach, 1980), The Decline of Donnish Dominion (Halsey, 1992), The Academic
Profession: The Professoriate in Crisis (Altbach & Finkelstein, 1997), The Decline
of the Guru (Altbach, 2003), Whatever Happened to the Faculty? (Burgan, 2006),
among numerous sources. The decline is seen as all-encompassing, affecting the
whole of the academic enterprise. Still another critic summed it up as The University
in Ruins (Readings, 1996).
If there is decline, then it must represent a fall from some high point. This point is
often attributed, and attributed hagiographically, as the “golden age” of the years
spanning roughly 1945 to 1970, particularly in the United States (Thelin, 2011).
Still, the point in time, or an era, is not decidedly clear. Musselin (2011) argues that if
we want to talk of decline from one point to another, we need to be able to measure
change between any stated set of points. She thus calls for better, more systematic
measurement of what is stable and what changes in the occupational conditions of
the professoriate.
The “decline narratives” seemed to have assumed a greater potency especially in
the early 1970s and thereafter. Today, the sound of alarm has achieved an apparently
feverish pitch. This may be for valid reasons. Feller (2016), in his essay, “This Time
It Really May be Different,” argues that the historic resiliency of higher education
may be unable to withstand the extent to which Federal and state government
funding has eroded. It is precisely this erosion that accounts for the transformation
in the very way the professoriate is constituted, exhaustively documented by
258 J. C. Hermanowicz

Schuster and Finkelstein (2006), through dramatic shifts in types of faculty appoint-
ment (also Finkelstein, Seal & Schuster, 1998). In aggregate, in the U.S. system,
non-tenure line faculty now out-number traditional, full-time, tenure-line appoint-
ments (Schuster, 2011). This shift is in the midst of being witnessed internationally
(Altbach, 2003; Altbach, Reisberg, Yudkevich, Androushchak, & Pacheco, 2012;
Altbach, Androushchak, Kuzminov, Yudkevich, & Reisberg, 2013; Finkelstein,
2010). Finkelstein’s part-time professional model is self-demonstrative of the per-
vasive trend.
The sense of decline corresponds with real growth. “Another inevitable result of
massification has been a decline in the overall standards and quality of higher
education” (Altbach & Forest, 2011, p. 2). Here again, much of the research
literature treats rises in student enrollment as the major if not sole object of growth,
but we know that growth extends to function (Smelser, 2013). Thus perceived
decline may have ties not simply to massification but also to organizations whose
accretion de-centers and alienates faculty. “Academics increasingly work in large
organizations and are constrained by bureaucratic procedures” (Altbach, 2002,
p. 162).
There are many other specified reasons for perceived decline, both in the United
States and in the professoriate of societies throughout much of the world: the rise of
state and market control, managerialism, neoliberalism, the corresponding degrada-
tion of collegial control, the diminished quality and altered type of faculty appoint-
ments, the preparedness, commitments, and motivations of students, and so on. But
if we believe Trow (1974 [2010]), all of these problems have their source in growth.
It is thus again ironic to recognize that amidst arguable fruition in systems (in global
access to higher education and in the functions that higher education takes on) there
is perceived, if not also measurable, demise in the professoriate. “Despite the fact
that the academic profession is at the core of the university, the professoriate has
suffered a decline in status and remuneration in many countries, at precisely the time
when higher education has moved to the center of the global knowledge society”
(Altbach et al., 2012, p. xi).
Recalling Chart 6.1, the foregoing sections of the chapter have identified and
explained the key characteristics of the major conceptual frameworks, both classical
and contemporary, to studying the international professoriate comparatively. Charts
6.2 and 6.3 summarize the core ideas associated with illustrative figures connected to
the respective classical and contemporary formulations in studying the professoriate
comparatively. The discussion has sought to encourage ways, either by emulation or
adaptation, to organize contemporary empirical and theoretic inquiry into compar-
ative analysis of the professoriate. The exercise exposed other significant theoretic
issues as central to considering past as to future work on academics. These matters
include a dominance of a guiding theoretic metaphor to account for variation (and,
implicitly, change) in the international professoriate, center and periphery; theoretic
puzzles in which the convergence of structure and form is said to occur at the same
time differentiation is postulated; and the importance, historic yet intensifying, of
growth and accretion—in enrollment of students and in the functions performed by
institutions—as forces that alter the professoriate. Growth and accretion are
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 259

conjoined by widespread beliefs about decline in the professoriate around the world.
Decline, and a multitude of other conditions of the professoriate—“real” and “per-
ceived”—are, in principle, a prerogative of empirical examination. It is thus the
subject of the most current empirical and analytic inquiry into the international
professoriate to which we turn.

6.3 Part 2: Topical Forays

Referring again to Chart 6.1, part two of the chapter focuses on topical forays that are
illustrative of current comparative work on the professoriate. Specifically, four major
clusters of work animate prevailing inquiry into the international professoriate. At
times these clusters of work are empirical. More often they are analytical and
descriptive, an artifact of attempting to undertake comparative work, in which
comparison can in many instances most profitably be made with broad heuristic
approaches. A recent surge of specifically empirical work, conducted under the
auspices of an international set of projects entitled “The Changing Academic
Profession” is, to significant degrees, not truly comparative but rather engages in
country by country reports. The topical clusters constitute a ground on which bona
fide comparative work on the professoriate has been undertaken. There are many
other topics as it were that pertain to professors, and as the bibliography contained
herein implies, but they often are topics in a substantive isolation or which belie
comparison. The clusters of topical forays here treated in turn include: academic
freedom; contracts and compensation; career structures and roles; and an account
of the “Changing Academic Profession” project.

6.3.1 Academic Freedom

Academic freedom is an idea so closely associated with the professoriate, at least in

the West, that it assumes a defining characteristic of the professoriate. Within the
West, academic freedom, both as a principle and as a practice, has become very
strongly linked to the system of academic tenure as found in the United States, even
though its origins lay elsewhere and date to a time that far precedes the development
of American higher education (Hofstadter, 1955; Hofstadter & Metzger, 1955;
Metzger, 1951, 1961). Yet for its centrality, it is understood, interpreted, and applied
variously to instances where it is thought to be exercised or violated (Schrecker,
1983). Further still, academic freedom may also be taken to apply to students,
administrators, and institutions. It was, in part, with an appreciation of students’
academic freedom in Germany where an American preoccupation with it began in
the nineteenth century (Cain, 2016; Metzger, 1967). Nevertheless, agents of its
pluralistic understanding, interpretation, and application are often academics, par-
ticularly in systems of higher education where academic freedom is, ironically, the
260 J. C. Hermanowicz

most “well-developed.” Few if any academics “take a course,” or some part thereof,
in their educational training on what academic freedom may or may not be; most of
them also do not understand what a profession is and is not. Instead they mimic and
manage to create a plentitude of tolerable or semi-tolerable ways to practice and
behave in one (cf. Kennedy, 1997; Shils, 1983), and may invoke “academic free-
dom” when they perceive some aspect of a purported civic freedom has been
violated. What is more, its centrality to dominant national systems of higher educa-
tion in the West lends academic freedom to another of those ideas that is readily
willed as a normative condition of the academic profession throughout the world.
How can one have a professoriate without academic freedom? The answer, as it turns
out, is locatable in many parts of the world.
A traditional understanding of academic freedom, construed in the Western
world, has been advanced by Shils (1991), and it is worth quoting at length:
Academic freedom is a situation in which individual academics may act without conse-
quences that can do damage to their status, their tenure as members of academic institutions,
or their civil condition. Academic freedom is a situation in which academics may choose
what they will assert in their teaching, in their choice of subjects for research, and in their
publications. Academic freedom is a situation in which the individual academic chooses a
particular path or position of intellectual action. Academic freedom arises from a situation in
which authority—be it the consensus of colleagues in the same department, the opinion of
the head of the department, the dean, the president, the board of trustees, or the judgement of
any authority outside the university, be it a civil servant or a politician, or a priest or a bishop,
or a publicist or a military man—cannot prevent the academic from following the academic
path that his intellectual interest and capacity proposes. Academic freedom is the freedom of
individual academics to think and act within particular higher educational institutions, within
the system of higher educational institutions, and within and between national societies
(Shils, 1991, pp. 1–2).

This understanding, by turn, permits inference as to what academic freedom is not,

again as thought about by Shils (1991):
Academic freedom is not the freedom of academic individuals to do just anything, to follow
any impulse or desire, or to say anything that occurs to them. It is the freedom to do academic
things: to teach the truth as they see it on the basis of prolonged and intensive study, to
discuss their ideas freely with their colleagues, to publish the truth as they have arrived at it
by systematic methodical research and assiduous analyses. That is academic freedom proper
(Shils, 1991, p. 3).

Still, the protection and enforcement of academic freedom, even in those systems
where it is most valorized, such as the United States, is left essentially to an
organizational ether. University administrations are understood as quasi guardians
of academic freedom, yet they (or specific members of them) are often the objects of
reported violations of professors’ academic freedom. Faculty panels may be con-
vened to assess specific cases that allege an infringement upon academic freedom,
but such panels rarely possess statutory authority; the operationalization of their
conclusions is thus organizationally problematical. Professional associations, includ-
ing but by no means limited to the American Association of University Professors
(AAUP) in the case of the U.S., may take stands in defense or support of academic
freedom and seek to intervene on behalf of specific persons whose academic
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 261

freedom is believed to have been violated, but these associations have no adminis-
trative authority over universities, colleges, or institutes. Public admonishment, an
inconsistent, non-binding, and financially costly mechanism, is an association’s only
corrective tool for social control. Even colleagues, however once trusted, close-by,
trained in an area, informed about a case, or professionally acquainted with an
individual or individuals, cannot be depended upon to uphold principles of academic
freedom on which their very own livelihoods purportedly rely. “It should not be
thought that academics always desire and strive for the academic freedom of their
colleagues” (Shils, 1991, p. 14). Indeed the point connects to the observation in the
literature discussed below that threats to academic freedom differ in their origins. In
developing countries the threats are external to universities in the form of the state,
other ruling bodies, or individuals. In the United States in particular the threats are
often understood to come from within the university itself (Altbach, 2002, 2003).
The latter should not be viewed as a luxury compared to the former.
The beginnings of academic freedom are themselves testimony to international-
ism. European universities in the Middle Ages were self-governing to a degree
(Rashdall [1895] 2010). But the church and/or the state controlled them in vicissi-
tudes for centuries. As modern science emerged in seventeenth century England
(Merton [1938] 2001) and as the partaking in research and scholarship began to
spread in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries throughout Europe (Zuckerman &
Merton, 1971), an interest in the protection of free inquiry intensified. Students who
pursued advanced education did so in Europe, and especially Germany, where many
of them became professors, and where, consequently, the idea of Lehrfreiheit
emerged: “the right of the university professor to freedom of inquiry and to freedom
of teaching, the right to study and to report on his findings in an atmosphere of
consent” (Rudolph, 1962, p. 412).
Modern notions of academic freedom, even in Europe, began to coalesce in the
nineteenth century and on into the early- and mid-twentieth century with the
ascendance of the research role performed by academics and the increasingly
research-minded institutions that employed them. Yet the point should not be lost
that a broader interest in freedom of thought and teaching pre-dates these consider-
ations. McLaughlin (1977) has explained how assertions of scholarly freedom in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries at the University of Paris constitute a legacy of
protections in the pursuit of knowledge. Indeed, Cain (2016) notes that the term
scholastic freedom is traceable to Pope Honorius III in the thirteenth century (see
also Hoye, 1997). Owing to the length of life of the general idea across time and
cultural contexts, it is unsurprising that understandings of academic freedom, in any
one society, let alone many of them, have evolved (Russell, 1993), have conse-
quently become plural (Brown, 2006; Fish, 2014; Metzger, 1988; Shiell, 2006), and
are thereby also availed to misunderstanding and mis-application (Goldstein &
Schaffer, 2015; Schrecker, 1983; Shils, 1991).
That there might or should be simply one way to construe academic freedom, as
promulgated by Shils (1991) or Rudolph (1962) and many others, is something of a
modern paradox. Academic freedom is often assumed by many to be a necessary
condition for an authentic academic profession wherever professors are employed.
262 J. C. Hermanowicz

“Academic freedom is a core value of higher education everywhere. Without it,

quality teaching and research are constrained. . .Academic freedom is so much a part
of the lifeblood of the university that it is today taken for granted” (Altbach, 2004,
p. 2). In reality, these three declarations are empirical matters. It is equally transpar-
ent that national systems of higher education vary in their cultural, social, and
political settings, traditions, and histories. To say that the conceptions of academic
freedom offered by Shils, Rudolph, and others are “normative” is accurate in a
limited theoretic sense, but it nevertheless averts the socio-historic reality in which
academics practice in many parts of the world. We will come to see in this chapter
how it is challenging to offer a universal definition of a “professor,” among many
other elements that are theoretically constitutive of an academic profession. The
same may be said of “academic freedom.”
What are the conditions of academic freedom around other parts of the globe? In
general terms, academic freedom as an ideal has, in the U.S., applied to the
classroom, the laboratory, and the public sphere (Altbach, 2002; Shils, 1991). In
Western Europe, the ideal is more restrictive; it applies to teaching and research
within the university and is circumscribed by areas of expertise (Shils, 1991).
Broadly speaking, the Western European tradition attempts to reflect the idea of
Lehrfreiheit, as noted above, as well as that of Lehrnfreheit, the freedom to learn,
which highlights the historic instrumental role that students played in the formation
of this tradition. Nevertheless, one can find permutations in how academic freedom
is conceived even within Western Europe (Cavalli & Moscati, 2010), and certainly
between it and Central and Eastern Europe, the Nordic countries, and Russia
(Altbach, 2002; Rostan, 2010).
Based on a comparative analysis of Western and Sinic (or post-Confucian) higher
education systems, Marginson (2014) argues that differences in enactments of
academic freedom reflect variations in state traditions and political cultures.
The Western and English-speaking traditions speak especially to the power of individualism,
to knowledge as an end in itself (though this is contested by government) and state-society
relations and the contribution of universities to the broader public sphere, civil discussion
and democracy. The Sinic tradition speaks to the good of the collective and individual aware
of the collective, to the applications and uses of knowledge for ultimately practical ends
(here there is more agreement in the East, than in the West, between university and state) to
pluralism within the state and the securing of state responsibility and good government, and
to the social leadership role of universities (Marginson, 2014, pp. 39–40).

Zha (2011 p. 464) casts further light on distinctions between West and East,
China specifically: “Westerners focus on restrictions to freedom of choice, whereas
Chinese scholars looking at the same situation focus on responsibility of the person
in authority to use their power wisely in the collective interest” (quoted in Marginson
[2014, p. 36]; see also Yan, 2010). Yet also consider views that beg to differ, as in:
“Chinese academics routinely censor themselves. Criticism, loss of jobs, or even
imprisonment, they understand, can result from publishing research or opinions that
contradict the views of the government” (Altbach, 2007, p. 49).
These types of distinctions have been thought about in terms of “negative” and
“positive” freedoms. “Negative freedom” consists of a freedom from constraint.
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 263

People shall not be physically or intellectually barred from activities. By contrast,

“positive freedom” consists of the active capacity to do good things. People shall be
able to do what they want to do, which lead to constructive ends (Berlin, 1969).
As Marginson argues, both set-ups for academic freedom—paradigmatically East
and West, positive and negative—contribute to intellectual life. They do so, how-
ever, in distinctive ways, and both are compatible with a free exercise of academic
roles, though the substantive content of faculty members’ work and aims of their
roles are different in the Western and Eastern contexts concerned (Marginson, 2014).
Marginson emphasizes the additional point that even in the West, academics
rarely have the opportunity to engage in “blue-sky inquiry.” Many of them are
required to raise money and to tailor their research and teaching to the needs and
interests of clients, sponsors, and governing authorities (Marginson, 2014). If, for
example, professors’ are compromised in their ability to assign grades independently
or to produce research and scholarship as they see fit, they become “managed
professionals” (Rhoades, 1998).
Furthermore, differing freedoms may apply to academic disciplines and profes-
sional fields of work. Fields vary in how much they tolerate plurality—in assump-
tions, premises, theory, methods, and other conventions. Marginson suggests that
mainstream economics, for example, is less tolerant of dissent than social theory
(Marginson, 2014). For these reasons, according to Marginson, the idea of a
“universal” academic freedom lacks validity. Academic freedom is not for
Marginson a concept divorced from time and place—as if locked in a state of
“paradisiacal being”—but is, rather, “a set of relational human practices that are
irretrievably lodged in history and changing in time and place” (Marginson, 2014,
p. 26).
He thus calls for the conceptualization and study of academic freedom in ways
that balance universal qualities with local, contextualized enactments of
it. Academic freedom is imputed normatively, but also exists in empirical categories
(Marginson, 2014). We can thus imagine many versions of academic freedom that
reflect their cultural nestling.
Tierney and Lankford (2014) rebut such an argument as historically determinis-
tic: “current actions are inevitably [interpreted as] the result of a country’s particular
traditions” (Tierney & Lankford, p. 19). They argue on behalf of academic freedom
as an international imperative. By their account, the forces and realities of global-
ization authorize a willing of academic freedom, as understood historically in the
West, upon academics everywhere. “Academic freedom, as a transcendent value,
needs to be protected regardless of location. . .a threat to academic freedom in a
faraway land, regardless of geography, is a threat to academic freedom everywhere”
(Tierney & Lankford, 2014, p. 20).
Rostan (2010) similarly argues that globalization, short of serving as only an
economic term, changes the purpose and function of academic work throughout the
world. By this reasoning, academics can be viewed increasingly as workers
employed to advance the economic interests of their home country, independent of
(or stripped from) cultural tradition (Tierney & Lankford, 2014). Based on data from
academics in Finland, Germany, Italy, Norway, and the United Kingdom, Rostan
264 J. C. Hermanowicz

(2010) examines the extent to which academics perceive a government demand for
“relevance” to intrude into the academic profession. Rostan finds support to the idea
that specifically teaching evaluation, research funding, and ties to economic sectors
link academics to external actors. These linkages operate as mechanisms by which
expectations of social and economic relevance intrude into the professoriate and
constrain academic freedom. Aarrevaara (2010), focusing on Finland as a case, and
using the same base of data, makes closely similar assertions that tie demands for
relevance to constraint in the practice of academic work and teaching.
As with “relevance,” academic freedom gets tied-up in the political movement of
“accountability,” which is itself found in an increasing number of national contexts
throughout the world. Enders (2006, p. 11) underscores these points further still:
“. . .more and more faculty around the globe realize that academic freedom does not
necessarily include a protection from social and economic trends affecting the rest of
society. Growing interests in strengthening the accountability and responsiveness of
higher education to society form part and parcel of the realities of twenty-first
century academe everywhere.” Consequently, we may observe how higher educa-
tion scholars posit a demand for a universal academic freedom, while at the same
time many such scholars note increasingly global ways in which it is compromised.
Altbach (2007, p. 49) has offered the additional paradox by seeing that “academic
freedom is far from secure in many parts of the world,” yet “also more widespread in
the early 21st century”—a phenomenon attributable to the growth and development
of academic systems around the world, as discussed in the previous section of this
chapter.
Academic freedom in a limited number of national systems, particularly the
United States, is strongly associated with tenure. But globally, most systems of
higher education do not have tenure. This fact begs the obvious question of how
academic freedom, however construed, can exist in an absence of tenure protections.
Answers to the question are not straightforward, but are rather, again, seen by many
as conditioned by histories and traditions, long or limited, that situate professors’
work in a relationship between the state and higher education (Altbach, 2003). The
issue is encumbered by the additional fact that a very large and increasing number of
academic staff throughout the world are employed in part-time positions or in other
types of positions with fixed contracts (Altbach et al., 2012). This, too, is a conse-
quence of global growth and accretion in higher education (Altbach, 2016; Shin &
Teichler, 2014a).
The reality that academic freedom is understood differently in different parts of
world makes comparison difficult—a recurrent theme of the present chapter
(Altbach, 2002). This very likely accounts for the relative paucity of explicitly
empirical treatment of academic freedom in international comparative focus. We
do not even know, for example, but only infer through a Western lens, that academic
staff outside the West take academic freedom as importantly as those in the West,
most especially the United States. They may in various ways, but they still work
without it, strictly speaking.
Those who have ventured to make comparative assertions about the actual
operation of academic freedom do so by implying an empiricism but are in actuality
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 265

writing in general, observational terms. This has value, because it is all that we have
with which to understand academic freedom in several systems throughout the
world. The degree of generality and absence of empirical elaboration place limits,
however, on our current means to analyze academic freedom comparatively.
Altbach (2002) notes that academic freedom is now more robust in central and
eastern Europe, as well as in Russia, than it was in the former Soviet period. The idea
that professors ought to have freedom in research, teaching, and expression is
reportedly gaining greater acceptance in the political and social spheres. In Latin
America, full-time permanent staff are a small proportion of the academic labor
force, but even full-time academics have little job protection. There is not tenure, but
there is de facto security; rarely are they let go (Altbach, 2003). Many universities in
developing countries, including in Latin America, operate as centers for activism and
incubators of social movements (Altbach, 2003). In addition, especially in develop-
ing countries, the history of higher education is an expression of state control
(Altbach, 2003). This combination of forces places limitations on academic freedom
in these substantial parts of the world.
Philip Altbach, who has been a long observer of, and has written about the global
conditions of academic freedom, perhaps more than anyone else, has suggested the
creation of a “world academic freedom barometer,” akin to global measures of
human rights. The idea places on a differentiated scale efforts that are an impetus
behind groups such as the former Network for Education and Academic Rights
(NEAR), sponsored by UNESCO (Akker, 2006), the Foundation for Individual
Rights in Education (FIRE), as well as the Scholars At Risk Network, whose mission
is to protect scholars and promote academic freedom (see: https://www.
scholarsatrisk.org/). Definitional difficulties notwithstanding, Altbach proposes six
qualitatively-based categories into which academic systems might be placed
(Altbach, 2001, pp. 210–217):
1. Severe restrictions—systems where academic freedom is non-existent, such as
those of Myanmar, Iran, North Korea, and Syria.
2. Significant limitations and periodic crisis—systems where academic freedom
may exist in small degrees but accompanied by significant restrictions, as in the
systems of China, Viet Nam, and Cuba.
3. Tension in the context of limited academic freedom—systems that have general
academic freedom but only where classroom and research activities are not
considered sensitive by the state, characteristic of many countries in Africa
and Asia.
4. Academic freedom with limits—systems that impose formal restrictions on topics
of research and forms of public expression, such as those of Singapore and
Malaysia.
5. Re-emergence of academic freedom—systems where academic freedom is
gaining strength, such as those of Latin America, Eastern and Central Europe,
and Russia.
6. Industrialized countries—systems where academic freedom is most strongly
established, such as the United States and modern Japan and Germany.
266 J. C. Hermanowicz

Finally, academic freedom and autonomy have come to be terms used inter-
changeably and confusedly. Let us remind ourselves that they are distinct. Academic
freedom, in whatever society and culture it may exist, personifies individuals—
teachers, scholars, researchers, students, and administrators. No human individuals
of any time or place are autonomous; many universities in the world strive to be, but
even in those countries where their autonomy is most complete, they are not fully
autonomous. No university has been or could be completely autonomous (unless it
were a strictly private commercial enterprise). University autonomy is:
the freedom of the university as a corporate body from interference by the state or by the
church or by the power of any other corporate body, private or public, or by any individual
such as a ruler, a politician, government official, publicist, or businessman. It is the freedom
for members of the university, acting in a representative capacity and not as individuals, to
make decisions about the affairs of their university (Shils, 1991, pp. 5–6).

In the case of institutional degrees, for example, the right to award them has
historically been a privilege conferred through a charter granted by a state or church
(Shils, 1991). “Those who acknowledge the degree believe that it has been autho-
rized by the highest authority in the society, be that authority the church or the state”
(Shils, 1991, p. 6). As another example, the case of academic appointments repre-
sents an occasion in which university autonomy is constrained by a process wherein
ministry officials decide on the acceptable candidate, as found in the German system,
or where the decision is made by a national appointed body other than the state, such
as a group of academic representatives from many universities, as found in the
French and Italian systems (Shils, 1991).
The financial dependence of universities on outside bodies creates a condition for
infringement on the autonomy of institutions (Shils, 1991), and sometimes also on
the academic freedom of persons working and studying in institutions. This has been
understood for a very long time. Further, the degree of autonomy that institutions
enjoy can affect the conditions in which professors work, including the extent of
their academic freedom, as illustrated in discussion above concerning especially
parts of Asia, Africa, and Latin America. It is also true that infringements upon
institutional autonomy can affect academics’ perceptions of, as opposed to their
actual, academic freedom. In this sense the conditions of autonomy affect the
satisfactions academics possess about their professional lives. But this may have
nothing to do with academic freedom as such.
Academic freedom and autonomy are analytically and empirically separate;
neither are they necessarily proportional to each other. The universities of the Middle
Ages, for example, had from time to time arguably much autonomy, but staff had
little academic freedom (Rashdall ([1895] 2010; Shils, 1991). In the contemporary
United States institutional autonomy may be said to have eroded, especially in the
public sector (Rhoades, 1998). But the freedom enjoyed by academics there is
substantial. As autonomy is a property of institutions, not the professoriate, I thus
leave the full subject of autonomy to reviews about institutions.
In summary, academic freedom is often viewed as a core element of the academic
profession. But academic freedom does not exist formally in most colleges,
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 267

universities, and institutes around the world. Its close ties to the tenure systems in the
United States makes it serve as a model that is dominant in the West. And yet even
where it is most institutionalized, as in the U.S., it is enshrouded with difficulties in
its definition, application, and defense. Whereas threats to academic freedom in most
parts of the world are external (i.e., having their sources in the State or other ruling
bodies), in the West threats are more often internal, that is, having their origins
within institutions themselves. Understandings of academic freedom are not fixed.
Rather they have evolved and become plural. Like other elements of the professo-
riate, the plurality of academic freedom renders it difficult to make country by
country comparisons. Still, because it is vital to academic work in all places where
teaching and research are undertaken, empirical comparative research on academic
freedom awaits.

6.3.2 Contracts and Compensation

The global institutionalization of higher education, along with the effects that
massification is bringing about around the world, corresponds to a relatively new
concern for how academic labor is contracted and paid for. Research on contracts
and compensation of the international professoriate, now having begun, essentially
did not exist prior to a dozen or so years ago. Moreover, contracts and compensation
of academic labor pertain of course to academics throughout the world, but this
corner of the literature on the professoriate is dominated by U.S. researchers. This
may owe itself to the fact that the U.S. system was the first to massify and
consequently the first to employ on a large-scale non-regular faculty as a departure
from a norm. Given that European, Asian, and Australian researchers are highly
engaged with the topics of massification and managerialism (e.g., Altbach &
Umakoshi, 2004; Arimoto, 2010; Azman, Jantan, & Sirat, 2009; Enders, 2001a;
Kwiek, 2012; Locke, Cummings, & Fisher, 2011; Marginson & Considine, 2000;
Maassen & van Vught, 1996; Shin & Teichler, 2014b), and because of the intensi-
fying centrality of higher education to most countries, and because of perceived
world-wide worry about the decline of the professoriate as discussed earlier, it is
quite likely that the subject of contracts and compensation will see a spread of
research work around the globe. It is not today a theoretically exciting subject, and
one can have doubts about it ever being so. Scholars could theorize compensation in
an account of academic labor, or study contracts toward a theory of stratification, but
there is practically no current evidence of such endeavor. Such work is on hand
through alternative lenses of career structures, to be discussed in the next section of
this chapter. Like purely demographic profiles, contracts and compensation are a
timely subject that will likely sustain crude-level empirical interest and possess a
kind of value. It is also important to note that some of the work described below
includes systematic measurement of compensation and thus—unlike a substantial
sweep of inquiry into other subjects pertaining to the international professoriate—
provides a strong basis on which to examine change over time.
268 J. C. Hermanowicz

The most comprehensive treatment, Altbach et al.s’ (2012) work, is based on a

study of 28 countries across six continents. Altbach et al.s’ (2013) work is a
complement to the prior study that retains a concern for contracts and compensation
while focusing on the “BRIC” countries—Brazil, Russia, India, and China, in
addition to the United States. In general, tenure systems entail well-defined param-
eters of contracts and compensation, but, as previously noted, most national higher
education systems lack formal tenure policies. Where they exist, tenure systems are
highly evaluative in their operation; contracts and compensation are thus outcomes
of intensive peer review. The professoriate in other countries, such as Brazil,
Germany, and Saudi Arabia, is part of the civil service, and thus terms of employ-
ment and pay are determined by the civil service. Employment terms and compen-
sation are customarily structured by length of service and rank, rather than by
evaluation (Altbach et al., 2012).
In many systems without formal tenure (and also without explicit academic
freedom), even those that rely preponderantly on part-time teachers, as in Latin
America, academic staff are understood to be rarely dismissed (Altbach et al., 2012,
p. 7). Thus, world-wide, comparatively few academics work in systems offering
formal tenure, but most academics allegedly work with virtual tenure. “There is. . .a
certain degree of inertia in the academic culture of many systems, leading to nearly
automatic contract renewal except in cases of gross negligence” (Altbach et al.,
p. 15).
Formal and “virtual” tenure are not, however, to be mistaken for each other. In
Great Britain, for example, formal tenure was eliminated as part of the restructuring
of its higher education system in the 1980s. Lord Jenkins, the chancellor of the
University of Oxford, created a coalition involving Tory and Labour leaders to
include in the major Higher Education Bill of 1988 the provision that academic
staff “have the freedom within the law to question and test received wisdom, and to
put forward new ideas and controversial or unpopular opinions, without placing
themselves in jeopardy of losing their jobs or privileges” (Crequer, 1989, p. 11).
Shattock (2001) explains that while academic staff in Great Britain receive the
protection of the Jenkins amendment, institutions are able to terminate their contracts
with three months’ notice subject to “redundancy” provisions. This authority has
been used to accommodate enrollment declines in specific departments and financial
shortfalls in specific institutions (Shattock, 2001, p. 38).
In order for international compensatory comparisons to be made, researchers
speak not of salaries but of remuneration, since it is a convention in many parts of
the world, especially in developing countries, to pay academic staff not only by basic
salary but also by supplements, bonuses, allowances, and subsidies (Altbach et al.,
2012). What is more, in most of the countries studied by Altbach et al., academics
earn additional money through employment in varieties of academic and
non-academic work (Altbach et al., 2012). The capacity to maintain a standard of
living by one’s main academic position applies to a minority of national higher
education systems in the most developed countries of the world where, too, in the
course of their own beginnings, this was not possible to accomplish (Geiger, 1999;
Rashdall [1895] 2010). In the most developed higher education systems of the world
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 269

it took time measured in centuries for academe to develop into a full-time occupation
that enabled financial self-sufficiency.
Currency conversions alone are an inadequate means by which to compare
compensation. Recent work has used the purchasing power parity (PPP) index,
which takes into account variation in the cost of living across countries (Altbach
et al., 2012). The index is based on an item or set of items (a basket of goods) whose
prices are compared to the equivalents in a reference country. Remuneration is in
turn adjusted using the index, in conjunctions with the Penn World Tables (Heston,
Summers, & Aten, 2011), in order to arrive at more meaningful compensation
comparisons.
Altbach et al. (2012) report base academic salary ranges for regular academic
staff at public institutions in the countries represented; the salary ranges include three
points of data—entry-level, average, and top. The highest academic salaries are
found in Canada and South Africa, the lowest in Armenia, Russia, and China. At
middle levels are Japan, France, and Norway (Altbach et al., 2012, table 1.1., p. 11).
Academic staff are able to sustain a comfortable living standard on their base
academic salary alone in less than half of the countries studied (Altbach et al.,
2012). For a listing of the importance that academics assign to specific alternative
sources of income, by country, see Altbach et al. (2012) table A.5. The authors
contend that major systems—in Japan, Germany, Israel, and the United States,
among others—will find it difficult to recruit young talent to academia if salaries
do not improve in these countries. The authors also recognize that by aggregating
data from institutions in the public sector, the results exclude a rapidly growing
private sector of higher education in several countries, China foremost among them,
and mask significant differences across institutional types within the public sector in
various countries (Altbach et al. p. 9 & 16).
Enders and Musselin (2008) call attention to several trends in academic salaries
(excluding other types of remuneration) in European countries. First, they argue that
the relationship between academic and non-academic salaries within a country are
influenced by the degree of massification in higher education, which by turn affects
the size of a cadre of academic staff. As the rate of student access to higher education
increases, salaries become less attractive, and a gap widens between academics and
Ph.D.-holders who opt to work in non-academic sectors.
Second, they contend that salary variations among academics within countries
increase as more assessment and performance measurement is used. This effect is
moderated by societal context, wherein academics employed as civil servants are
firstly compensated according to civil service pay scales. But in countries with less
standardized salary schedules, the effects of differentiation apply to academics, as to
members of other labor forces who have also been subject to commensurative
performance evaluation (Espeland & Stevens, 1998).
Third, Enders and Musselin (2008) argue that salary differences among countries
have intensified. This is accounted for by variations in economic development, but
also by a pattern, noted above, wherein when non-academic salaries are more
differentiated, so are academic salaries. Consequently, a gap grows between coun-
tries where overall economic growth has been relatively weak and/or where
270 J. C. Hermanowicz

differentiation has also been moderate from those countries exhibiting stronger
growth and greater salary differentiation. Countries where academic salaries are
comparatively low are more likely to turn to other components to supplement
income, including housing subsidies, stipends, and special loan provisions. These
complements to salary can operate as comparative advantage, even at times against
some countries whose higher education systems are highly developed but whose
prevailing economic performance has been damp.
Finally, Enders and Musselin (2008) state that multi-affiliation develops when
regular employment does not provide adequate income to academics, a point
elaborated upon by Altbach et al. (2012), as detailed above. Enders and Musselin
(2008) draw attention not only to Latin America, where this phenomenon is long-
running, but also to countries of the former Eastern Block, as well as Poland and
Russia, where academic salaries are frequently complemented by additional work in
and/or outside of academia (see also Kwiek, 2003; Slantcheva, 2003; Smolentseva,
2003).
A notable strength of Enders and Musselin’s work is found in the undercurrent of
comparison to non-academic labor markets (see also Enders & de Weert, 2009b). A
contemporary and heretofore inadequately addressed question—will academic work
become less attractive?—is situated among employment options. Enders and
Musselin (2008) contend that many of the changes in academia (expressed variously
as concerns about salary decompression, managerialism, transformations in loci of
control over the terms of work, and the like) are found in non-academic labor
arrangements throughout Europe if not also many other parts of the world (Chandler
& Daems, 1980; Edwards, 1979; Hodson, 2001; Kalleberg, 2011; see also Musselin,
2009). Where academic work can be seen as less attractive than it once was, so can
many other types of work in historical comparison. The core issue for Enders and
Musselin (2008) is the relative attractiveness between academic and non-academic
types of employment.
International mobility is often construed as a related pattern of globalization. This
is true, for example, among many undergraduate students and “study abroad” pro-
grams, as well as in graduate and professional education where students leave (and
sometimes do not return to) their home countries in order to obtain training in better
institutions located elsewhere. “Brain drain,” “brain gain” are the colloquialisms
used to acknowledge some degree of increased frequency of these behaviors. A
greater occurrence of international collaboration among scholars and scientists is
also testimony of globalism (Altbach, 2016, p. 10; Huang, 2009).
But when it comes to academic staff, those who are appointed at a university in a
given country are not only very likely to remain in that country but also to never
move from their initial place of faculty employment. This pattern holds across the
world (Altbach et al., 2012). It is true even in the most developed higher education
systems—in Germany, France, Britain, Italy, Japan, the United States, to name only
a few (Altbach et al., 2012), which reflects both the constraints of structure in hiring
and advancement in careers of specific systems (e.g., Germany, France, Italy) and
constraints on institutions to hire regular, full-time academic staff at both junior, but
most especially senior, levels. There are exceptions to the patterns—some
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 271

individuals do of course move among institutions and between countries—and

where they are found, they concentrate in the most developed systems and typically
display exceptional achievement, but they nevertheless remain exceptions that
demonstrate the more general pattern (Altbach et al., 2012; Musselin, 2005a,
2005b). The United States is arguably the most fluid system for specifically inter-
institutional mobility among faculty, but still about one-third of academics remain at
their first institution of academic employment, and another third move only once
over the entirety of their academic career (Schuster & Finkelstein, 2006, p. 208).
Research on contracts and compensation has to-date generally excluded part-time
academic staff. This is a significant omission, since the use of such staffing, largely
interpreted as a consequence of massification, has become normalized in universities
throughout the world. Musselin (2011, p. 429) has noted a need to study and better
understand “casual staff” who comprise an “invisible” or “shadow” workforce. This
need applies to the contracts and compensation of part-time academic staff, as much
as to other facets of their work, including their educational backgrounds, training,
and career characteristics, professional trajectories, and employment conditions. To
act on any such need, however, under the rubric of the international academic
profession or of a professoriate commits the observer to including such types of
staff as constitutive parts of these bodies. This presents a conceptual juggernaut
whose resolution is evaded, not confronted, by a prevailing fashion of speaking
about a profession or professoriate in the honorific sense as a plural noun.
It is unlikely that part-time or itinerant academic staff anywhere self-identify as
members of “the academic profession,” because they understand that they are not
members of a profession in the proper sense (see Hermanowicz, 2009, note 11, pp.
295–296). Electricians, though in many countries possess a license which makes
their work critical, typically do not say that they are members of the electrical
profession. Even in Latin America, where academic staff consist centrally of a
part-time labor force, it is unclear whether they understand themselves as members
of an academic profession, or rather as members of legal, medical, and other
professions, semi-professions, and occupations who in turn teach at universities on
a part-time basis. Part-time and temporary academic staff in perhaps all parts of the
world are more likely to answer affirmatively that they teach or work at such and
such college, school, or university. To study them is indeed important, for they
perform much work on behalf of universities and in the name of the academic
profession. This is not the same as saying they are the academic profession in any
given place.

6.3.3 Career Structures and Roles

The widespread existence of ranks for faculty personnel across national systems is
suggestive of the idea of career, even amidst permutations among systems in
nomenclature, phase duration, sequencing, and role expectations. For illustration, a
consolidated listing of ranks as operating in 28 national systems of higher education
272 J. C. Hermanowicz

can be found in Altbach (2012, appendix A1). In the case of academic staff, we may
understand a career “to be the set of hierarchically ordered and professionally
relevant positions within a field or discipline in which entrance and progression
are regulated by peers” (Lawrence, 1998) and/or external bodies, such as a govern-
ment ministry, national assembly, or the state.
Enders (2006) posits two dominant career structures for academic staff: the chair-
model and the department-college model. The chair model is marked by a deep
separation between a professional core who hold tenured positions (often as part of
the civil service) as chairholders and a largely untenured class of junior academics
who aspire to senior positions as they pass through two or three career stages of
relatively long duration (Enders, 2006, p. 13). In Germany, the start of an academic
career actually pre-dates the conferral of the Ph.D. Staff are employed on contracts
for approximately six years, and then for up to another six years upon receipt of their
degree as part of a second formal qualification phase (Kehm, 2006). Incumbency in a
junior position is not understood as an inevitable path to promotion. Appointment to
senior professorships is made only after a national search (Altbach, 2002).
Chairs possess considerable independence and power, junior staff comparatively
little. Junior academic staff are often employed at the will of a doctoral supervisor or
chair-holder (Kehm, 2006). Chair-holders are also often affiliated with and directors
of institutes which accentuates their authority and deepens their independence from
university controls (Neave & Rhoades, 1987). Similar disciple-apprentice relation-
ships and controls are predominant in the career structures found in France
(Musselin, 2006). The structure is expressly hierarchical and indeed premised on
the idea of patronage in which aspirants to full-fledged professorships are highly
dependent on individual chair-holders both for admission into academia and for
subsequent career advancement (Neave & Rhoades, 1987, pp. 211–212). A version
of the chair-model is found in Japan where the arrangement permits just one
powerful senior professor in each department (Altbach, 2001, p. 167). For an
extended description of the chair-model and career processes as paradigmatically
found in Germany, see Enders (2001b).
By contrast, a department-college model is both more collegial and egalitarian,
even as it displays divisions by rank and corresponding authority. Academic staff in
lower ranks up to full professor generally carry-out the same basic functions; status
in all ranks, not only the most senior, is more greatly dependent on achievement,
rooted in demonstrated expertise, and conveyed by recognition garnered from the
academic community (Enders, 2006, p. 13). In this model, probationary periods are
shorter, promotion into tenured positions comes earlier, and intermediate career
phases are more regularly organized (Enders, 2006, p. 13). Junior academics under-
stand themselves as incumbents on a career path of promotion to one or more
advanced ranks; such advancement does not entail an open search. There is thus
greater predictability and continuity about the career structure.
Groupings of academics are organized into departments overseen by a head. The
headship rotates among members of the senior faculty, a further dispersion of
authority. Desire to hold a headship is typically inversely related to the prestige of
the department or institution (Blau, 1973). Among active scholars, individual
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 273

professors in a well-reputed department understand how authentic status is won—

through scholarly, not administrative, achievement; in such departments, conse-
quently, very few people actually desire to be head. Less reputed departments and
institutions exhibit more bureaucratic forms of organizational control. In such
settings, bases of status are pluralized, and they include administrative roles. Con-
sequently, some professors actually aspire to headships and other administrative
posts; this variation in structure is more hierarchical than its purest counterpart just
articulated, but nevertheless more egalitarian than the chair-model. The tenure-track
system in the U.S. is indicative of the department-college model (Enders, 2006,
p. 13).
Neave and Rhoades (1987) argue that the British system stands midway between
the structures of Western Europe and the U.S., even as the early U.S. system was
inspired in an organizational way by the clusters of colleges at Oxford and Cam-
bridge. In Britain a departmental structure is linked to a version of the chair system.
Chair- and department-college models thus run in parallel, with greater drift to the
latter. Faculty stand above departments but without a hierarchy of vertical control
(Neave & Rhoades, 1987, p. 217). They function as intermediaries and advisors and
respond to initiatives coming from other professors and from deans (Neave &
Rhoades, 1987, p. 217). Departments have power over chairs and all professors,
and they thereby constrain autocratic behavior exercised by chairs over junior staff
(Neave & Rhoades, 1987, p. 217).
Enders and Musselin (2008) offer a variation on the above patterns while
maintaining most of the main elements indicative of the chair- and department-
college models set forth in other works (Enders, 2006; Neave & Rhoades, 1987).
They argue that everywhere, careers have been based on a two-stage process: the
first stage is characterized by apprenticeship, selection, and time-limited positions;
the second stage by permanent position (Enders & Musselin, 2008, p. 4). But
massification has differentiated career structures into three predominant models in
which a greater variety of career patterns are evident, including a prevalent use of
part-time academic staff discussed in this chapter’s prior section (see also
Finkelstein, 2010). These models include: the tenure model, the “survivor” model,
and the “protective pyramid.”
The tenure model, corresponding most directly to the U.S., selects some Ph.D.s
for tenure-track positions of a specifically limited duration, which leads to the tenure
procedure—the complex review of a candidate to make his or her existing position
permanent. While this model has been described as an “up or out” process, in
actuality very few faculty members are “pushed out” of the professoriate altogether.
They are rather pushed out of specific institutions. Junior academics who are not
awarded tenure at their institution are more apt to take tenure-line positions at other
universities. Depending on the conditions of the position, which reflect the con-
straints of specific institutions, these new posts either require the individual to work
toward a second tenure review, or the individual is appointed with tenure in light of
demonstrated achievement.
The survivor model, most indicative of the chair-system as it has operated in
Germany, puts candidates, after having received a Ph.D., through trials that are
274 J. C. Hermanowicz

meant to provide evidence of talent and in a wait for a permanent position. Only
those who survive these long periods and open competitions involving many
candidates become the individuals selected for a limited number of senior professor-
ships (Enders & Musselin, 2008).
The “protective pyramid” depicts the public systems of Italy, Spain, and France.
Access to a permanent position occurs relatively early after a highly selective
tournament, in which a panel of senior academics assesses and ranks the merits
and prospects of a set of candidates. The panel may include a candidate’s doctoral
supervisor—a nod to the chair system and customs of patronage. Once chosen,
different categories of positions are organized hierarchically with procedures that lay
out promotion of some from one category to another. But the career structure does
not assure promotion. A rise within the pyramid is contingent on the growth rate of
the overall pyramid and the age/seniority of those at the top (Enders & Musselin,
2008, pp. 3–4). For in-depth treatments of career structures and advancement
processes where this model is found, see Chevaillier (2001) in the case of France,
Moscati (2001) in the case of Italy, and Mora (2001) in the case of Spain. The Dutch
system presents a melding of forms as it has sought to remove appointive authority
from the Crown and retain the civil service linkage to the professoriate while
attempting to grant more power to departments and universities (de Weert, 2001).
These models and their distinctions notwithstanding, we may additionally
observe the introduction of a multitude of means by which to evaluate aca-
demics—regardless of a historically situated career structure and regardless of the
power that any given structure endows or fails to endow individual academics. What
is more, the ascendance of evaluation applies to a broad array of roles that academics
perform. The proliferation is not confined to research performance, even though
research activity and publication productivity arguably have been made the most
commensurative of the academic roles, but extends increasingly to teaching and
service roles, where varieties of examples of peer review and/or administrative
oversight, both internal and external to institutions, are evidenced in the control of
academic work. The Research Assessment Exercises in Britain are an extreme
illustration of this pattern (Lucas, 2006); the idea of an analogue in the form of
teaching assessment exercises is an equally extreme illustration. Other illustrations,
representing both formal and informal mechanisms of control, are readily at hand in
the supervision of expenses, travel, and even speech and behavior (Bilgrami & Cole,
2015; Enders & Musselin).
Throughout the world the professoriate has entered an era of hyper-monitoring. It
is easy to interpolate how such controls affect academic freedom (where traditions of
academic freedom exist). But we await explicit study of the contests between the
control of academic work on the one hand, and freedom in academic work on the
other. Fundamental to this tension is the idea of trust (Cook, 2001; Kramer & Cook,
2004). Trust is in turn key to professional occupations (Parsons, 1949). An interac-
tive matrix of control, freedom, and trust constitutes a topic possessing crucial
theoretic and practical significance.
How do academics get jobs, and enter one of these prototypical career structures?
To the extent that comparative work on academic labor markets and hiring processes
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 275

is available, the answer is that conventions are entrenched in national traditions.

There is arguably greater plurality in the norms that govern recruitment and hiring
than in the structures that organize careers once academics are on the inside. Career
structures avail themselves to greater analytic consolidation; recruitment practices
are more idiosyncratic.
Nevertheless, Musselin (2010) has produced a theoretically robust study that
compares the hiring practices for academics at research universities in France,
Germany, and the United States. Universities are characteristically understood to
operate according to principles of meritocracy (Hermanowicz, 2013). But
Musselin’s work goes to show that in practice this is often far from the case. In
her terms, the processes of academic labor markets are based less on considered
judgment than on price. Markets interact with procedures internal to universities and
departments.
For Musselin (2010), hiring processes are composed of three components: “the
construction of job supply” (deciding that there is a job to be filled); “the judgment
phase” (evaluation of candidates’ scholarship, teaching, and other activities); and
“pricing” (the determination of work conditions, duties, and salary for the successful
candidate). These tasks are performed by different sets of people in different national
systems. With respect to “the construction of job supply,” research ministers in
Germany determine which positions to fill. In France, national authorities authorize
positions. In the United States, a university provost controls all academic positions,
allocates them to deans of colleges and schools within an institution, and then deans
in turn allocate them to heads of departments.
Importantly, Musselin sees merit playing an understated role in the “judgment
phase” in processes found across the three systems. Hiring committees actively and
explicitly work against a clock; they seek to secure candidates for further scrutiny
before they are lost to other universities, and before the position is revoked. It is clear
that in the United States, at least, that these conditions do indeed work against
meritorious hiring. Faculties of departments are extremely reluctant not to fill a line
for fear of not getting the line back from the dean the following year. It is at this very
point where all kinds of compromises and rationalizations—antitheses of merit—are
made by department faculties who are about to hire. The decisions entail effects for
departments for decades; at most U.S. universities, especially in the public sector,
hiring decisions are now effectively tenure decisions, owing to deeply-rooted
departmental concerns that faculty will not easily get a replacement line, and almost
certainly not at an equivalent level of seniority, should they let someone go. These
behaviors, at these specific junctures in hiring processes, are very likely among the
most powerful in lessening, even destroying, the long-term quality of departments
and programs in higher education. It is a strike against rational decision-making for a
department to believe it is better-off with having hired someone sub-par than going
without having hired anyone at all. Musselin implies that such compromises and
rationalizations—a consequence of clock-work combined with imputed fears about
how hiring systems operate—also infect the French and German systems, although
these systems may possess greater capacity to let go or not promote incumbents.
276 J. C. Hermanowicz

Musselin (2010) observes in all three systems during the judgment phase that
very little actual reading of work produced by candidates is done by screening
committees. This is yet another blow to meritocracy. The lack of reading candidates’
work by most people in any way connected to the hiring weakens meritocratic
operation in multiplicative fashion. It may be said that many academics obtain
their positions without academic colleagues (and administrators) having read much
if any of their work. And this likely holds for both junior- and senior-level hiring.
Instead, listings of work (in the form of a vita), and campus visits in the the case of
the U.S. and auditions in the case of France, operate as principal sorting mechanisms
(Musselin, 2010).
What is more, in all three systems Musselin finds that “personality” figures
prominently in hiring (Musselin, 2010). “Personality” is thought about by faculties
both for how they imagine a candidate getting along with colleagues and for how
well they would be able to teach. We can add that “personality” may also be used as
a proxy of future voting behavior, in those systems where the person filling the
position has voting privileges. Hiring is thus a process by which current academics
protect themselves, which can have little if anything to do with “merit.”
Finally, according to Musselin (2010), in the third phase—hiring—emphasis is
not on the candidate, but on price. In France, the price is fixed by a national index of
the civil service. In the United States, department heads negotiate with deans about
the market price, which now varies by field; heads weigh-in on what departments of
comparable quality are paying; and heads assess a candidate’s competing offers, the
quality of the candidate next in the queue, and the salaries of current faculty
members (Musselin, 2010; Tuchman, 2010). For non-comparative, country-specific
views of hiring practices and job conditions of beginning faculty members, see
Yudkevich, Altbach, and Rubley (2015a). For still additional work on early career
paths and employment conditions in seventeen countries, see Bennion and Locke
(2010). For other work on the broad issues of academic recruitment and career paths,
see Galaz-Fontes, Arimoto, Teichler, and Brennan (2016) and Teichler and
Cummings (2015).
By these varied observations on academic hiring, Musselin challenges traditional
conceptions of reward systems and how they function (Merton ([1942] 1973a))—
that is, academic life as meritocratically oriented. The principal foil is work of the
late sociologist of science, Robert K. Merton, one of the great theorists of modern
social science (Calhoun, 2010; Merton, 1957, 1996; Zuckerman, 1988). His work
inspired many other scholars who wrote in an institutional tradition of understanding
scientific and/or academic work and occupational settings, to which Musselin’s
efforts may be viewed as a complement (for a review of this work, see Hermanowicz,
2012).
Other research has found that inbreeding—the practice of a faculty hiring its own
graduates without the graduates’ having first established their professional careers at
other institutions—is common in many parts of the world (Yudkevich, Altbach, &
Rumbley, 2015b). The most recent comprehensive examination of these hiring
practices covers eight countries consisting of Argentina, China, Japan, Russia,
Slovenia, Spain, South Africa, and Ukraine (Yukevich, Altbach, & Rubley,
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 277

2015b) In many different parts of the world, inbreeding is not considered unusual or
problematic. As a general phenomenon the practice has been in place for centuries,
and is in many systems considered a point of pride, tied to an idea that institutions
display a scarce charismatic authority by their capacity to retain the best candidates
(Yudkevich et al., 2015b).
Counter perspectives hold that inbreeding, both as isolated occurrences as found
throughout the world and as a systemic procedure found in many national systems as
illustrated above, constrains meritocracy. Hiring is not viewed as open to the best
available candidates. What is more, inbreeding is argued to institutionalize other
counterproductive practices among faculties and make organizational reform more
difficult (Yudkevich et al., 2015b). It may also hamper broad institutional goals of
science and scholarship—to advance certified knowledge (Merton ([1942] 1973a,
[1957] 1973b). Inbred faculty collectives are thought of as less open to new ideas
and to ideas that challenge prevailing group “ways of knowing” and decision-
making. Inbreeding is also associated with local, as opposed to cosmopolitan,
work orientations (Gouldner, 1957–58). Consequently, such faculty tend to demon-
strate greater loyalties to their employing institutions, rather than to their profession,
field or discipline. In these ways, the scholarly ambitions and publication produc-
tivity of inbred faculty are weakened (McGee, 1960).
What roles do academics perform within a given way in which their career and
work are structured? To many, the question may seem trite. In the most developed
systems, the answer is the customary role-triumvirate of teaching, research and/or
scholarship, and institutional/professional service roles—though even within these
systems the distribution of time among these roles is highly variable for academics
(Hermanowicz, 1998, 2009). From a global point of view, however, the professoriate
is mainly a teaching occupation (Altbach, 2003; Enders, 2006). Massification
intensifies this dominance, but even in the absence of massification this pattern
would still hold true. As noted earlier, globally, many of those who teach in
universities hold only a first academic degree, not an advanced degree or doctorate.
This pattern is antithetical to research and scholarship. It also makes apparent that
advanced professional qualifications are an instance of structural lag with
massification (Riley, Johnson, & Foner, 1972).
Arimoto and Ehara (1996) have proposed a classification of work orientations
that encompass national systems: a type with a strong research orientation, such as
Germany; a type with an allegedly balanced emphasis on research and teaching, such
as the United States; and a type with a strong teaching orientation, such as the
countries of Latin America. This classification has utility, but at the same time it
understates internal variation within types and understates the global pattern of
teaching dominance. A model of work orientations that I have proposed to capture
variation in career patterns of academics within one system—the U.S.—can be
applied with requisite adaptations across national systems (Hermanowicz, 1998,
2005). A critical goal of such a model is to capture variation and simultaneously
modalities in work patterns.
As for teaching, Altbach reports that in many parts of the developing world few
classrooms contain anything more than the very basics of chairs and desks (Altbach,
278 J. C. Hermanowicz

2003, p. 17). Classes are large by international standards; the mode of instruction is
consequently the lecture; teaching loads are comparatively high (Altbach, 2003,
p. 17). In not too few places academics do not have a private office or even their own
desk, let alone a computer or private email account (Altbach, 2003, p. 9). In
developing countries of Africa and Asia, access to the internet remains mixed and,
where available, with sporadic connection (Altbach, 2003, p. 9). Nevertheless, the
internet remains a growing and crucial resource in these countries, and has been
utilized to conduct distance education. Indeed, developing countries comprise seven
of the ten largest distance education providers in the world (Altbach, 2003, p. 10). In
general, academics in developing countries who hold doctorates are a minority, have
earned them abroad, and introduce in their home countries a status hierarchy in
which more favorable work conditions and responsibilities are leveraged (Altbach,
2003).
In a comparison of developed higher education systems across nineteen countries,
Teichler et al., (2013) find variation in academics’ preferences for teaching and
research, but a tilt is generally observed toward research in most of the countries for
both junior and senior academics (Teichler et al., 2013, see tables 5.1 and 5.2).
Aggregating survey respondents of junior and senior career stages and fields, some
differences are evident in publication productivity among these countries. The three
top producers of articles are stated to be South Korea, Italy, and Japan (at an average
of 11.3, 9.1, and 8.9 articles, respectively, per individual over the past three years);
the overall average among the thirteen most advanced systems included is 6.7
articles (Teichler et al., 2013, see table 5.8 and p. 76 for explanation of division by
country-type). The averages suggest a relatively high-level of publication output in
the professoriate across many countries, which is a pattern that coincides with
contemporary developments of managerialism and accountability (Enders, 2001a;
Lucas, 2006), commensuration (Espeland & Stevens, 1998, 2009; Power, 1997), and
organizational status competition as reflected in global rankings of higher education
institutions (Shin et al., 2011; Yudkevish, Altbach, & Rumbley, 2016).
Related work finds differing results. Bentley and Kyvik (2012), for example,
contend that working-time patterns vary significantly among academics even for
those located in the comparatively advanced national systems of Europe, and that
role preferences evince sharp divides between junior and senior academic staff.
What is more, faculty members holding the highest professorial rank tend to
demonstrate greater commonality and greater identification with the research role
(Bentley & Kyvik, 2012). Cavalli and Moscati (2010), researching Finland, Ger-
many, Italy, Norway, and the United Kingdom, similarly stress dissimilarity over
similarity in work orientations. Studying academics in eleven European countries,
Kwiek (2015, 2016) draws the significant conclusion that the top ten percent of
highly productive faculty members produce an average of almost half of the research
output. This was a condition that characterized the acceleration of the research
university as an institutional form in the United States in the mid-twentieth century;
a minority of researchers produced the bulk of publication (Cole & Cole, 1973). In
the United States, this pattern no longer holds (Hermanowicz, 2016). Research has
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 279

become standardized with academic careers, even in a system noted for its range of
institutional differentiation.

6.3.4 The CAP Project: Antecedents, Aims, Outcomes

Readers’ attention is called to the flurry of work produced under the auspices of the
Changing Academic Profession (CAP) project. The CAP involved a survey study of
the professoriate in eighteen countries around the world plus the special administra-
tive province of Hong Kong during the period 2004 to 2012. A team of over
100 researchers were involved in the planning, design, and fielding of the survey.
In undertaking a project of this kind, leaders of the project readily acknowledged the
many challenges in studying the professoriate in the prolific variety of socio-cultural
contexts. The very terminology used in the project speaks of this complexity; terms
such as “academic”, “professor”, “profession”, “university” are neither universally
applicable nor possess identical meanings across countries. Nevertheless, a gener-
alized survey instrument was used in the project; the survey contained both identical
and/or roughly similar questions for respondents in all countries, as well as questions
directed more specifically to respondents in particular countries. The survey
contained 53 questions, mostly closed-ended, that produced approximately 400 vari-
ables to be analyzed. For an elaborated discussion of the background, aims, and
execution of the CAP project, see Teichler et al. (2013, pp. 1–35).
The CAP project was situated via three contemporary macro-level phenomena in
order to contextualize how the professoriate is changing and in what ways it is
responding to its environment in the given national systems examined. These
phenomena included: relevance, that is, the nature of the linkages between the
academy and external constituencies; internationalization, which involves the
effects of globalization, and; management, the ways in which the professoriate is
monitored, controlled, and regulated (Teichler et al., 2013, pp. 16–17).
Two additional major projects were launched from the CAP project. The first
consisted of “The Academic Profession in Europe: Responses to Societal Change”
(EUROAC). For EUROAC, six additional European countries were added to those
European countries original to the CAP project—netting a total of 12. An almost
identical survey instrument was used between the projects, enabling a merging of
data. The second project consisted of an examination of the professoriate in Asia, led
by researchers from Japan (Teichler et al., 2013, p. 19).
The CAP project and its two major off-shoots has yielded nothing short of an
industry of publication on the professoriate as well as many related topics, flagged in
the introduction of this chapter, that are connected to and/or bear on the professo-
riate. What may be fairly characterized as the core work emanating from the CAP,
EUROAC, and Asia projects consists of 16 edited volumes, as part of a series
entitled “The Changing Academy—The Changing Academic Profession in Interna-
tional Comparative Perspective,” published by Springer between the years 2011 and
280 J. C. Hermanowicz

2016. For consolidated reference, and to stimulate use by other researchers, the
volumes are listed below.
1. The changing academic profession: Major findings of a comparative survey.
(2013). U. Teichler, A. Arimoto, and W.K. Cummings (eds.).
2. Changing governance and management in higher education. (2011). W. Locke,
W.K. Cummings, and D. Fisher (eds.).
3. University rankings: Theoretical basis, Methodology and impacts on global
higher education. (2011). J.C. Shin, R.K. Toutkoushian, and U. Teichler (eds.).
4. Scholars in the changing American academy. (2012). W.K. Cummings and
M.J. Finkelstein (eds.).
5. The academic profession in Europe: New tasks and new challenges. (2013).
B.M. Kehm and U. Teichler (eds.).
6. Institutionalization of world-class university in global competition. (2013).
J.C. Shin and B.M. Kehm (eds.).
7. Job satisfaction around the academic world. (2013). P.J. Bentley, H. Coates,
I.R. Dobson, L. Goedegebuure, and V.L. Meek (eds.).
8. The work situation of the academic profession in Europe: Findings of a survey
in twelve countries. (2013). U. Teichler and E.A. Hӧhle (eds.).
9. Teaching and research in contemporary higher education. (2014). J.C. Shin,
A. Akimoto, W.K. Cummings, and U. Teichler (eds.).
10. The internationalization of the academy. (2014). F. Huang, M. Finkelstein,
M. Rostan (eds.).
11. The changing academic profession in Japan. (2015). A. Akimoto,
W.K. Cummings, F. Huang, and J.C. Shin (eds.).
12. Academic work and careers in Europe: Trends, challenges, perspectives.
(2015). T. Fumasoli, G. Goastellec, and B.M. Kehm (eds.).
13. The relevance of academic work in comparative perspective. (2015).
W.K. Cummings and U. Teichler (eds.).
14. Forming, recruiting and managing the academic profession. (2015). U. Teichler
and W.K. Cummings (eds.).
15. Re-becoming universities? Higher education institutions in networked knowl-
edge societies. (2016). D.M. Hoffman and J. Välimaa (eds.).
16. Biographies and careers throughout academic life. (2016). J.F. Galaz-Fontes,
A. Akimoto, U. Teichler, and J. Brennan (eds.).
In addition to these books, hundreds of articles have been published using data
from the CAP, EUROAC, and Asia projects. A bibliography of these works, running
51 pages, may be found in the appendix to volume 16 (Hӧhle & Teichler, 2016).
Selections of these books and articles have been incorporated into the present review
when relevant to the discussion. Another round of the CAP project is underway at
this writing.
The CAP project as a whole represented the second foray into studying the
professoriate internationally by way of a survey. Its antecedent was, as customarily
called, the “Carnegie Survey of the Academic Profession.” The Carnegie project,
conducted in the early 1990s, was initiated by Ernest Boyer and was carried-out in
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 281

14 countries plus Hong Kong. A short summary of results from the Carnegie project
was initially published in 1994 (Boyer, Altbach, & Whitelaw, 1994). A more
elaborate analysis was published in 1996 and included country reports (Altbach,
1996). A European analog, focusing on the attractiveness of the academic work-
place, and also including a format of 19 individual country reports, was produced in
2004 (Enders & de Weert, 2004).
Cross-national work conducted with surveys, with all of its ambitions, and all the
greater as more countries are added to the mix, provides researchers with industrial
levels of activity. Some of this activity has been worthwhile. To what extent has the
most recent storm of work pushed further our understanding of the professoriate?
Finkelstein has commented that, “The new availability of vast reservoirs of data for
comparison thus forces us to confront the question: how do we allow for salient
features of national context to enter into our data analysis in ways that ensure that we
provide appropriate nuance to our juxtaposition of the numbers?” (Finkelstein, 2015,
p. 318). Indeed, in much of the latest work, as in parts of the past, the question is
dodged: the work is “international” but in actuality not comparative (Altbach, 1977).
Various topics of the professoriate are treated in one country alone, a point echoed by
Musselin (2011, pp. 423–424). Teichler is candid:
The relevance of [how academics are socially arranged and organized]. . .is by no means
trivial for a comparative study. In some countries, the average number of publications
produced by a person defined in this project as belonging to the academic profession
might be considered to be an interesting piece of information. In other countries, this
information might be considered as irrelevant as the average temperature across days and
night across the whole year. . .(Teichler, 2013, p. 10).

How would Ben-David or Clark, discussed in this first section of this chapter,
make sense of the enormity of empirical results produced by the survey studies of
late? For all the emphasis on comparison in the CAP and related projects, we do not
have sufficient tools to actually compare. We lack a compelling framework by which
to properly account for both similarity and difference in a phenomenon found, now,
globally: a global professoriate. ‘Here is a pile of x. Here is a pile of y. There is a pile
of z.’ But how can we meaningfully make sense of their likenesses and
non-likenesses? This is our chief theoretic task to enable advancement in the field.
We must develop a structure by which to study the professoriate in order to speak
meaningfully of categories and their relationship to each other.
The foregoing discussion has identified key topical forays of scholarship and
research on the international professoriate by way of four major clusters of both
strongly analytic and explicitly empirical work. These clusters have included the
topic of academic freedom, most often examined with richly analytic lenses; con-
tracts and compensation, a subject of practical though under-theorized significance
that nevertheless lends itself readily to continued inquiry; the career structures and
roles that organize the professoriate in many parts of the world; and, finally, an
identification and circumscribed commentary on the “Changing Academic Profes-
sion” project and its related spin-offs that present a recent surge of empirical work
on the professoriate.
282 J. C. Hermanowicz

6.4 Conclusion

I have addressed the subject of the international professoriate first by way of the
theoretic foundations that have undergirded its comparative study and, second, by
way of the topical forays that characterize the current broad clusters of analytic and
empirical work. The narrative is depicted in Chart 6.1, which provides an organiza-
tional map of the chapter. I conclude with observations that concern future compar-
ative scholarship on academics.
To recommend work to be undertaken on various topics is the standard summa-
tive procedure. I shall not do that. It is not especially the case that there are specific
topics left uncovered by work on the professoriate. It would be foolish under the
present circumstances of extant work to say that the subject of x, y, or z has yet to be
studied or that the subjects of a, b, and c need to be examined. Something always
needs to be studied; that is our business; but that is not where our most pressing
challenges lie when it comes to comparative work on the professoriate.
To move forward, we need to take a long look and consider what researchers are,
and have been, doing. The problem for future comparative scholarship on the
professoriate—for it indeed to be scholarly, lies in conceptualization. Ben-David
and Clark, for example, were excellent at conceptualization. So have been the likes
of Teichler, Enders, Altbach, Arimoto, and Musselin. We need more of these kinds
of minds—those who cultivate a scholarly reach and ambition to attempt serious
work, in new, authentically comparative undertakings. Charts 6.2 and 6.3 provide
ideas on which future formulations may be made.
Most current topics of study on the international professoriate are undertheorized
or atheoretical. A broad sweep of prevailing empirical work is wholly descriptive
and, in many instances, executed with but banal goals. This type of literature has
been built so high it has begun to collapse upon itself. We could question how much
would be lost if we were to dispose of the current survey work on the international
professoriate and begin anew with a clearer vision for comparative work.
If we consider the most successful comparative work on academics, and there are
many examples used deliberately throughout this review, it is possible to discern
three essential qualities that distinguish it as a league of its own. The most successful
comparative work on the professoriate is undertaken with a theoretic objective. The
work seeks to explain, not only to describe. Ben-David and Clark sought to explain
the social organization of academics in paradigmatic systems of higher education.
Comparative thinkers might envision, for example, how to go about analogous
studies that make demonstrative inroads into the East, and into the developing
world, where actually quite little comparative work on the professoriate exists.
Another strategy would be to overlay, in rigorous and elaborated fashion, the center
and periphery idea on bodies of empirical work on the professoriate in many parts of
the world. As explained in the prior section of this chapter, we are desperately in
need of structure—of an organizing framework—by which to make global, and even
partly-global, sense of similar and dissimilar patterns.
6 The Professoriate in International Perspective 283

In addition to theory, the most successful comparative work on the profes-

soriate roots itself in analytic concepts. The concepts work in conjunction with
theory. Clark’s theory of the social organization of academics put to work the
concepts of authority, market, and oligarchy. He identified, for his purposes,
why these concepts were central, and used them as central elements to formulate
a theory. Ben-David, in his theory of academic social organization, focused on
the concept of function wherein the burden for his work was to explain how
organization arose from how systems of academics differently managed core
functions. These are, to be certain, not the only concepts available. But good
work needs conceptual rooting of some kind. It is noteworthy that in these two
illustrations, the scholars were conceptually rooted in disciplines. They were not
adrift in a boundaryless sea of a higher education arena. They could have been,
for higher education was absolutely their domain, but they chose not to
be. Sociology was their base. Clark brushed, if remotely, with economics. And
they both had an abiding capacity for a third field—history—which is the third
element of excellent comparative work on academics.
The most successful comparative work, on the professoriate, as undoubtedly
on many subjects, is made possible by a deep understanding of history. One
must develop, as these scholars did, and put to use, a working history of the
subject that one goes about studying. There is tremendous historical depth to
their work, and to other outstanding work on the professoriate. These two
scholars, at least, were also consummate readers. Shils also read, widely and
voraciously, to a nearly incredulous degree. They produced excellent work, but
they also read a lot. This is very likely a root problem of the most recent attempts
at work on the international professoriate. It is very likely a root problem now in
all academic work. Students have stopped reading; their teachers have, too. In
the United States, if not elsewhere, most professors do not as much anymore
read the work of their own colleagues, while at the same time they impose more
and more strenuous demands upon each other to produce this work. And yet I am
talking about further reading beyond the work of one’s immediate colleagues,
beyond even one’s own field, and beyond that of academic work. Reading hooks
people up with ideas. Reading is not innate; it is a matter that pertains to the
allocation of time. Academics’ ability to allocate time for reading may itself
exist an an obliterating object of neoliberalist forces (Berg & Seeber, 2016;
Vostal, 2016; Wajcman, 2015). Academics must do better in their allocation of
time for reading for the sake of a higher learning.
Ben-David, I will add, was also a keen listener. He wanted to “find-out.” There is
little doubt that this characterizes the habits of others’ who create excellent work.
Wherever in the world he travelled, Ben-David was more intent on asking questions
and listening to people about higher education in their countries than he was on
284 J. C. Hermanowicz

speaking about it, even as he had much he could say.1 It remains lamentable—it
always will be so—that he indeed had more in store to give us. Short of formal
training in history, listening to others, but especially reading, are the best tools by
which to acquire history, and with which to create imagination that links the past to
an understanding of the present.
It is obviously true that theory, concepts, and history are not all it takes. But they
together constitute a great share of remarkable comparative work. If we are more
deliberate in directing our attention to theory, concepts, and history, there is a chance
of our producing in the future comparative scholarship on the professoriate that is,
like some of its progenitors, outstanding.

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Chapter 7
Categorical and Limited Dependent
Variable Modeling in Higher Education

Awilda Rodriguez, Fernando Furquim, and Stephen L. DesJardins

7.1 Introduction

Often the types of outcomes that higher education researchers examine are
represented by categorical variables. These may include dichotomous or binary
dependent variables, such as whether a student enrolls in college or not, whether
they persist to their sophomore year (or not), or whether they graduate. In addition to
studying binary representations of underlying constructs, we are often interested in
studying outcomes that are multi-categorical, also referred to as polytomous. These
might include outcomes that have some natural ordering (i.e., are ordinal) or those
that are not ordered but have multiple nominal categories (i.e., are “multinomial”).
Examples of ordered outcomes include survey questions evaluating teaching with
response categories of excellent, good, fair, and poor or a Likert scale of agreement
where the categories include strongly agree, agree, neutral, disagree, and strongly
disagree. In terms of multinomial responses, where no order in the relationships
among the categories is evident, examples include a person’s college choice (e.g., no
college, attend least selective, selective, or most selective college) or college major
choice (e.g., liberal arts, engineering, science, business, other).
In addition to there being binary and multi-categorical outcomes, there are also
other types of outcomes that require specialized estimation techniques. These
include variables where the range of values for the outcome are restricted due to

A. Rodriguez (*) · F. Furquim

Center for the Study of Higher and Postsecondary Education, School of Education, University
of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA
e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]
S. L. DesJardins
Center for the Study of Higher and Postsecondary Education, School of Education, Gerald
R. Ford School of Public Policy, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 295

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_7
296 A. Rodriguez et al.

censoring or truncation (known as limited dependent variables) and outcomes that

are measured as counts or proportions. Examples of limited dependent variables
include outcome values with ranges that are censored, such as income obtained from
a survey with the top end of its distribution censored at some value (e.g., $150,000
and above). An example of truncation is when we examine the effects of a devel-
opmental program where students are placed into the program based on a placement
test, but we only have observations for individuals whose test score was below some
threshold. Examples of a count outcome are the number of applications a student
sent to colleges, the number of AP classes a student took, or the number of students
receiving Pell grants in a college. In terms of proportions, examples include the
percentage of students in a college who are from underrepresented groups, the
proportion persisting from the freshman to sophomore year, or what fraction in the
public vs. for-profit sector default on their loans. The higher education literature is
replete with studies examining binary and polytomous dependent variables, and to a
lesser extent studies of limited, count, and dependent variables that are proportions.
When faced with estimating regression models with categorical or specialized
dependent variables, researchers often simply employ linear (ordinary least squares,
or OLS) regression. However, there are some well-known statistical and practical
problems in doing so, including violations of important underlying assumptions
when the dependent variable is not continuous, and problems (e.g., bias and/or
inefficiency) with the estimates produced when using such an approach. Given
these potential problems, knowing more about how to adequately model outcomes
that are categorical or limited in some way is important. In an earlier edition of this
Handbook, Cabrera (1994) provided a description of how to employ statistical
models designed to deal with categorical dependent variable models, thereby pro-
viding higher education researchers with a grounding in these approaches. However,
since Cabrera’s (1994) chapter there have been important changes in the application
of statistical methods to the study of categorical dependent variables. These include
advances in the underlying statistical aspects of estimating such models, including
an improved understanding about the strengths and weaknesses of some of the
formal tests often used. There are also many new software packages available to
estimate these models, with features that make estimation easier and improve our
ability to interpret the results through tabular and graphical displays. Categorical
dependent variable models are also widely used in software packages used to
estimate some quasi-experimental models (e.g., propensity score matching; instru-
mental variable regression) now often employed for causal inferences. In addition,
Cabrera’s (1994) chapter focused almost exclusively on binary categorical depen-
dent variable models. Given the ubiquity of the use of categorical dependent vari-
ables in higher education research, and advances in the application of these models,
this chapter will build on Cabrera’s (and others) work by (1) providing some of the
conceptual and statistical underpinnings and rationale for the use of categorical and
limited dependent variable regression models, (2) demonstrate how to estimate some
of these models using a running example of a higher education issue, (3) provide
examples of extensions of these models, and (4) to promote the use of the methods,
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 297

point readers to additional literature and (in the appendix) provide the statistical code
(in Stata) used to produce the results from our running example.
In the next section, we introduce the empirical example we will use for much of
the chapter. We use the study of student college choice because (1) it is an important
issue in postsecondary education; (2) the topic and underlying mechanisms should
be well-known to many Handbook readers, permitting them to focus on the statis-
tical content; and (3) we have access to very current, national data not yet extensively
used to study student choice. After introducing the running example and data, we
focus our discussion on binary outcome models, then move on to a discussion of
estimating multi-categorical outcomes, and finish the chapter with other limited
dependent variables, including an example of modeling count outcomes and brief
discussions on modeling proportional, censored, and truncated outcomes. Through-
out the chapter, we insert in the text the Stata commands we have used for analysis,
highlighting them in a different font. We also include much of the statistical code
used to conduct the analysis presented herein in the appendix.

7.1.1 Studying Categorical Outcomes in Higher Education

Student college choice is one of the most studied phenomena in higher education
research. In the context of changing landscape in college preparation, increased
competition for admission, and concerns about college affordability, college choice
remains an active area of inquiry. Many scholars pay particular attention to the ways
in which student characteristics (e.g., academic performance, family background,
prior schooling) are associated with college application and enrollment behavior–
especially in the context of enduring social stratification in postsecondary education.
Previous quantitative research into college choice has studied whether students apply
to or enroll in college (Bielby, Posselt, Jaquette, & Bastedo, 2014; Roderick, Coca,
& Nagaoka, 2011; Kim, DesJardins, & McCall, 2009); where students enroll (e.g.,
by institutional sector or selectivity, Belasco, 2013; Chung, 2012; O’Connor,
Hammack, & Scott, 2010; Perna & Titus, 2004; Posselt, Jaquette, Bielby, &
Bastedo, 2012; Taggart & Crisp, 2011); how many college applications high school
seniors submitted (Long, 2004); as well as the college-going rate of high schools
(Engberg & Gilbert, 2014). All such outcomes are measured as categorical or limited
dependent variables, and researchers frequently employ nonlinear regression tech-
niques to study them. We therefore use various operationalizations of college choice
outcomes throughout this chapter to illustrate regression techniques that are often
employed to estimate models with these types of dependent variables.
298 A. Rodriguez et al.

7.1.2 Data and Sample

All analyses in this chapter make use of data from the High School Longitudinal
Survey of 2009 (HSLS:2009). The National Center for Education Statistics (NCES)
surveyed over 23,000 high school 9th grade students in 944 high schools in 2009,
with follow-up surveys in 2012 as well as surveys of parents and school personnel.
HSLS:2009 includes information about students’ backgrounds, academic perfor-
mance, course transcripts, college expectations, college applications, and high
school environment.1 We limited the data to high school graduates and excluded
observations missing key measures, resulting in 10,940 students. Our choice to not
account for missing data is based on our goal to focus on the modeling the various
categorical and limited outcomes, and a concern about how much space it would take
to include a detailed discussion of how to deal with missingness. A robust literature
on missingness and imputation methods is available (Allison, 2002; Little & Rubin,
2014).

7.1.3 Variables

Dependent Variables In order to demonstrate the application of the methods used

to study categorical and limited dependent variables, we used the HSLS data to
construct three different outcome variables. To demonstrate how to model binary
outcomes, we created a dichotomous variable measuring whether students enrolled
in college after completing high school or not (discussed in Section II). To demon-
strate the modeling of polytomous dependent variables, we created a multi-
categorical measure that disaggregates whether the student enrolled in college into
finer grains based on the selectivity of the institution attended. This dependent
variable has four categories: no college, chose a less selective, selective, or most
selective institution (see Sections III and IV). The third outcome we modeled is
students’ self-reported number of college application submitted, which we use to
demonstrate the utility of count regression techniques (presented in Section V).
Independent Variables In the regressions estimated, we control for constructs
thought to affect whether a student goes to college, and the type of institution they
decide to attend. These constructs were chosen based on theories used to explain the
college choice process and were operationalized using variables included in prior
studies and available in the HSLS data set.
Academic Ability Given its strong sorting function in the provision of college
opportunity and specifically in the college admissions process, academic ability is
arguably the most important construct included in inferential studies of college

1
Although we utilized a restricted version of the HSLS data, there is also a publicly available
version (see https://nces.ed.gov/edat/).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 299

choice (Clinedinst, Koranteng & Nicola, 2015). When modeling college choice,
researchers often include prior academic achievement measures such as students’
high school grade point average (e.g., GPA, a local measure of achievement); exam
scores, which are often state- or nationally-normed measures (Engberg & Allen,
2011; Posselt et al., 2012); as well as academic preparation measures such as the
highest-math course completed (Kim, Kim, DesJardins & McCall, 2015) or the
number of college-preparatory courses taken in high school (Engberg & Wolniak,
2010). To operationalize prior academic achievement and preparation in the models
estimated, we include 10th grade GPA; students’ scores on the math exam admin-
istered by NCES; the highest level of math taken by 12th grade; and the total number
of AP course credits students acquired during high school.
Demographic Characteristics Given the (1) historic exclusion of non-White,
female, and low-income students from many forms of higher education; (2) persistent
differences in high school resources across race and income (Office for Civil Rights
[OCR], , 2016; Palardy, 2015); and (3) presence of Minority-Serving Institutions
(MSIs) that shape choice (Freeman & Thomas, 2008; Teranishi & Briscoe, 2008),
we follow most previous college choice studies and include race/ethnicity and
income as explanatory variables in the models estimated. Gender is also another
important characteristic to consider when studying college choice, as women are
generally more likely to enroll in college but less likely to do so at selective
institutions (Bielby et al., 2014). We also include a measure of parental education
as parents who attended college are typically more able to assist their children with
the college choice process, and because some scholars argue that students whose
parents did not attend college rely on their high schools to help them navigate the
complex college choice process (Ceja, 2001; Perna & Titus, 2005; Rowan-Kenyon,
Bell & Perna, 2008).
College Expectations A number of college choice studies also control for students’
stated college plans or aspirations (Gonzales, 2011; Posselt et al., 2012). In the
student surveys, NCES asks students how much postsecondary education they
intended to acquire, which we included and coded as: high school or less, some
college, two-year degree, four-year degree or more. Another important measure that
shapes college choice and is frequently included in choice models is peers’ college
enrollment plans (Engberg & Wolniak, 2010; Taggart & Crisp, 2011).
School Characteristics Many researchers include school-level measures in their
college choice models to reflect that students are nested within schools, and that
schools are an important context for students. High schools provide resources and
present college-going norms that, in turn, shape individual student choice
(McDonough, 1997; Perna, 2006; Roderick et al., 2011). But a school’s college-
going norms are challenging to measure. In this study, we use the share of students
enrolled in two- and four-year colleges as proxies for college-going norms. Existing
studies have also controlled for high school characteristics to acknowledge differ-
ences in demographic composition (representation by race or income); operating
status such as charter and/or magnet schools; and urbanicity. We include these
300 A. Rodriguez et al.

measures as well. Table 7.1 describes the dependent and independent measures
discussed above and used in the applications of the modeling techniques demon-
strated in this chapter.

Table 7.1 Description of variables

Dependent Proportion/ S.
variables Mean D. Description
N ¼ 10,940
College Postsecondary institution attending as of Nov 1, 2013.
enrollment
No college 33.7
College 66.3
enrollment
Enrollment by Enrolled college IPEDS selectivity code, as found in
selectivity 2012 IPEDS institutional characteristics file
No college 34.0
Less selective 27.2
college
Selective 21.6
college
Most selective 17.2
college
Number of 2.7 2.8 Self-reported.
applications
Independent variables
Demographics
Race/ethnicity Collected from the student questionnaire, school roster,
Native 1.0 or parent questionnaire, in order of preference.
American
Asian 7.9
Black 8.0
Latino 14.2
Multiracial 8.7
White 60.2
Income Total family income from all sources 2008.
<35 K 23.5
35–55 K 16.7
55–75 K 13.9
75–95 K 12.1
95–115 K 9.2
115 K and 24.6
above
Parental Highest level of education, taken from the base year
education parent questionnaire.
HS diploma 32.1
or less
(continued)
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 301

Table 7.1 (continued)

Dependent Proportion/ S.
variables Mean D. Description
Associate’s 4.2
or certificate
Bachelor’s 63.7
or more
Academics
GPA, 10th 2.7 0.9 Ranges between 0 and 4.
grade
Math test 42.2 11.6 Ranges between 16 and 70.
scores
AP credits 1.3 2.2 Ranges between 0 and 16.
Highest math Highest level mathematics course taken/pipeline in the
Algebra I or 3.4 12th grade; drawn from transcript files.
below
Algebra 27.9
II/geometry
Precalculus/ 47.7
advanced
Calculus or 20.9
above
Expectations
Friends’ PSE 93.0 9th grader’s closest friend plans to go to college.
expectations
Students’ PSE 91.4 Expect AA/BA as of senior year.
expectations
School controls
Pct. 4-Yr col- 54.7 26.4 Ranges between 0 to 100.
lege enrollment
Pct. 2-Yr col- 24.4 16.4 Ranges between 0 to 100.
lege enrollment
Urbanicity Characterizes the sample member’s base year school
Urban 28.0 from the common Core of data (CCD) 2005–06 and the
Suburban 35.4 private school survey (PSS) 2005–06.
Town 12.8
Rural 23.9
School type Drawn from school survey; special program school
Regular 93.2 [or magnet school] includes a science or math school,
Charter 2.0 performing arts school, talented or gifted school, or a
foreign language immersion school.
Special 2.9
program
Career/ 1.9
vocational
Source: HSLS:2009
302 A. Rodriguez et al.

7.2 Binary Outcomes

There are three prevalent approaches to modeling binary outcomes–logistic, probit,

and linear regression (i.e., linear probability models). Several texts discuss binary
outcomes at length (e.g., Hosmer, Lemeshow, & Sturdivant, 2013; Long, 1997;
Long & Freese, 2014; Menard, 2002; Pampel, 2000). Below, we situate binary
outcomes in the higher education context and highlight post-estimation techniques
that aid in the interpretation of the findings. We start with a discussion of some
important statistical concepts—odds, odds ratios, probabilities, risk ratios, and
relative risk ratios—as these measures serve as an important foundation for model-
ing binary and multinomial outcomes.

7.2.1 Odds, Odds Ratios, Probabilities, and Risk Ratios

Before moving into an explanation of binary regression techniques, first we formally

define distinct ways of summarizing categorical outcomes that are, at times, con-
flated in common language usage— odds, odds ratios, and probabilities. We also
formally present the risk ratio and relative risk ratios—measures that are essential in
understating the estimation of multinomial models in Section IV.
The odds of an event occurring is the quotient of two probabilities: the probability
the event will occur (Pr(y ¼ 1)) divided by the probability that it will not occur (Pr
(y ¼ 0)), which takes the form:

Pr ðy ¼ 1Þ Pr ðy ¼ 1Þ
Oddsðy ¼ 1Þ ¼ ¼ ð7:1Þ
Pr ðy ¼ 0Þ 1  Pr ðy ¼ 1Þ

Odds have a lower bound of zero and upper bound of +1. An event with a break-
even probability of occurring (e.g., 0.50) has odds equal to 1. In our running
example, the probability of college enrollment for the overall HSLS:09 sample is
0.52 (Table 7.2).2 The odds of four-year enrollment in our sample of high school
seniors in 2013 is therefore 1.08 (or, 0.52/[1–0.52]).
An odds ratio allows for comparisons of the odds of an event occurring between
two groups as a quotient—the odds of the event (y ¼ 1) given an additional condition
(x ¼ 1) divided by the odds of the event given another condition (x ¼ 0). The odds
ratio is defined below as:

Oddsðy ¼ 1jx ¼ 1Þ
Odds Ratioðy ¼ 1jx ¼ 1Þ ¼ ð7:2Þ
Oddsðy ¼ 1jx ¼ 0Þ

2
Defined as two- or four-year college enrollment as of November of 2013.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 303

Table 7.2 Comparison of probability, odds, and odds ratios for college enrollmenta by gender,
2013
(1) (2) (3) (4)
Probability Odds Odds ratio Risk ratio
Totalb 0.52 1.08 – –
Gender
Female 0.55 1.24 1.41 1.17
Male 0.47 0.88 Ref. Ref.
Race
Native American 0.39 0.65 0.51 0.70
Asian 0.63 1.70 1.32 1.12
Black 0.46 0.85 0.66 0.82
Latino 0.44 0.77 0.60 0.78
Multiracial 0.51 1.05 0.82 0.91
White 0.56 1.28 Ref. Ref.
Sources: HSLS:2009
Notes: (a) College enrollment includes two- and four-year colleges; (b) sample includes all students
with base year, follow-up data (N ¼ 25,210)

Odds ratios have a lower bound of 0 and upper bound of +1. Using our HSLS
sample, the odds ratio of four-year college enrollment for women relative to men
equals the odds of four-year enrollment when female ¼ 1, divided by the odds of
enrollment for men (i.e., female ¼ 0). In our sample, the odds of college enrollment
for women is 1.24 and the odds for men is 0.88, yielding an odds ratio of 1.41 (1.24/
0.88, see Table 7.2, column 3). In other words, the odds of women enrolling in
college are 1.41 times those of men, or 41% greater odds (we subtracted 1 from the
odds ratio to arrive at 41%).
With some algebraic rearranging of Eq. 7.1, the probability can be defined in
terms of odds as:

Oddsðy ¼ 1Þ
Pr ðy ¼ 1Þ ¼ ð7:3Þ
1 þ Oddsðy ¼ 1Þ

However, unlike odds and odds ratios, probabilities are bounded by zero and one.
Continuing with our running example, the predicted probability of enrollment, given
the student is female is [1.24/(1 + 1.24)] ¼ 0.55 and for males the predicted
probability is [0.88 / (1 + 0.88)] ¼ 0.47.
The risk ratio (also sometimes called the relative risk) is the ratio of two
probabilities—the probability of outcome y occurring under condition x ¼ 1 divided
by the probability of outcome y occurring under another (base) condition x ¼ 0
(Eq. 7.4).
304 A. Rodriguez et al.

Pr ðy ¼ 1jx ¼ 1Þ
Risk Ratio ðy ¼ 1jx ¼ 1Þ ¼ ð7:4Þ
Pr ðy ¼ 1jx ¼ 0Þ

For many, the term “risk” connotes a negative event, as its use is historically rooted
in the health fields (e.g., a patient’s “risk” of an adverse health event). In our example
where y is college enrollment and x is gender, we divide the aforementioned
probability of enrolling (y ¼ 1) for females (where x ¼ 1) of 0.55 by 0.47, which
is the probability of enrolling for males (where x ¼ 0) resulting in 1.17. This number
represents the risk of women enrolling in college, relative to men. We can interpret
this ratio as indicating that women’s risk of enrolling in college is about 1.17 times
that of men. Note that the calculation of the risk ratio is different than the odds ratio,
with the former being the ratio of two probabilities (Eq. 7.4), and the latter being the
ratio of two odds (Eq. 7.3). When the event occurrence (e.g., enrollment) is small
(<10%), the odds- and risk-ratios will be similar. But these two measures diverge as
the event becomes more common. Also, the relationship between ORs and RRs
depends on the direction of the relationship between the outcome and regressor.
When there is no association between the outcome and regressor OR ¼ RR. When
there is a negative (positive) relationship OR < RR (OR > RR). Thus, using these
two terms interchangeably depends on the context.
The relative risk ratio relates the risk ratios for two possible outcome categories,
for example, outcome m relative to a baseline outcome b out of J possible outcomes.

Pr ðy ¼ mjxÞ
Relative Risk Ratio ðy ¼ mjxÞ ¼ ð7:5Þ
Prðy ¼ bjxÞ

The interpretation of the relative risk ratio is always in relation to a base outcome,
which is important to note when you have multiple outcome categories, so we will
return to this topic in section IV.
Next, we discuss the three main regression-based approaches to estimate binary
outcome models –the logit, probit, and the linear probability models. We begin with
a formal presentation of the logit model and use it to frame our discussions of
goodness of fit and interpretation of coefficients—much of which is applicable to the
probit model. Throughout, we note the estimation and post-estimation commands
available in the Stata software package that one can employ to estimate models and
after the regressions are estimated, to facilitate the interpretation of results. Next, we
turn to a discussion of the probit model, underscoring the points where it diverges
from logit regression. The explanation of the probit model is followed by a presen-
tation of the linear probability model, where we consider the conditions under which
it might not be appropriate to use when modeling binary dependent variables. We
close this section with a summary of the pros and cons of the three binary modeling
techniques.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 305

7.2.2 Logistic Regression

The logit model is commonly used in education studies to model the relationship
between a set of predictors and a binary outcome. The outcome of interest takes on
only two values, typically represented in the data by a 1, indicting the event of
interest (e.g., enrollment in college), and 0, indicating the event did not happen (e.g.,
non-enrollment in college). For statistical reasons, and to ease in the estimation of
such a model, we would like this binary dependent variable to be linear in the
parameters. For this to be the case, the dependent variable is transformed into a
continuous measure that ranges from –1 to +1. Conceptually, we can think of our
observable binary outcome of interest (denoted by y) representing an unobserved
latent construct (y* representing, for example, the underlying propensity to enroll in
college), that ranges from –1 to +1. Higher values of y* are associated with the
observable binary outcome y ¼ 1, and lower values of y* are associated with y ¼ 0.
We can relate observed measures (x’s) with the continuous latent y∗ formally using:

y∗ ¼ X 0 β þ ε ð7:6Þ

To illustrate, while we only actually observe whether students enroll in college

(or not), individuals have some underlying unobserved probability (or propensity) to
enroll. Some individuals are very likely to enroll in college (i.e., have higher values
of y*) while others are very unlikely to enroll (have lower values of y*). Another set
of individuals are somewhere in the middle, whereby they might enroll if the
conditions are right (e.g., a conversation with a mentor, a subway ad, or a campus
visit). There are a whole host of reasons why some students have high probabilities
of enrolling in college and others do not. Potential x’s for Eq. 7.6 may, for example,
include a student’s academic performance in high school, their family income, or
peer influences. Given this unobserved probability to enroll, imagine there is also an
unobserved threshold (τ) that separates those who attend from those who do not.
Formally this can be represented as:


1 if y∗ > τ
y¼ ð7:7Þ
0 if y∗  τ

where y is what we observe in the data. The task at hand, then, is to transform the
observed binary y into a continuous measure that ranges from –1 to +1 in order to
model the unobserved or latent tendency (y*) to enroll.
Mathematically, we perform several steps to transform a binary measure into a
continuous measure that ranges from –1 to +1. First, we transform the outcome
into the probability of the event occurring because it allows us to conceptualize the
outcome in a continuous form. We then take the (natural) log of the ratio of the
probability of the event occurring or not. Known as the “logit,” this variable is
bounded by –1 to +1 allowing this outcome measure to be linearly related to the
306 A. Rodriguez et al.

parameters. Taking the natural log of Eq. 7.1 above, and conditioning on a set of
0
covariates X , the logit model can be formally defined as:
 
Prðy ¼ 1jxÞ
ln ¼ X0β þ ε ð7:8Þ
1  Prðy ¼ 1jxÞ

eliminating subscripts for ease of expression, the left-hand side of the equal sign is
the natural log of the odds of an event occurring; with intercept α; a vector of
covariates x with a corresponding vector of coefficients β; and errors ε. The logit
model is typically estimated using maximum likelihood estimation (MLE), an
iterative technique that estimates parameters sequentially until the likelihood that
the estimates produced best fits the underlying data is maximized. This method is
different from ordinary least squares (OLS) regression, which identifies parameters
that minimize the sum of squared residuals. Several texts provide thorough over-
views of maximum likelihood estimation (Eliason, 1993; Wooldridge, 2002). For
our purposes, it is sufficient to keep in mind that estimates produced from the
likelihood function are consistent, asymptotically normal, and asymptotically effi-
cient (Long, 1997). However, given maximum likelihood’s asymptotic properties,
the logit model is not well-suited for small samples.3 In fact, this caution holds for all
of the regression techniques discussed in the chapter – when employed using small
samples, their foundational assumptions may not hold, yielding potentially incon-
sistent estimates.
To identify the logit model, we need to make a number of assumptions.
First, unlike a linear regression model—which assumes errors are normally distrib-
uted—the logit model assumes a distribution of errors that are logistically distributed
(σ ¼ π2/3) with a mean of zero (the zero conditional mean of ε assumption). Since
the error distributions from binary data are not directly observed, the variance is set
to π2/3 because the probability density and cumulative distribution functions are
simpler to ascertain when using this value. When plotted, the probability density
function for the logistic distribution has thicker tails than the normal distribution (see
Fig. 7.1). As a result, the cumulative logistic distribution increases at a faster rate
than the normal distribution. With a defined distribution for the errors, we can then
estimate Pr(y ¼ 1). Also, the right-hand side of Eq. 7.8 indicates that using the logit
functional form forces a linear relationship between the outcome (the natural log of
the odds) and the model parameters. Thus, the model is linear in the logit, or
log-odds, but not linear in the probability. A third assumption of the logit model is
that the included regressors cannot be a linear combination of each other (no
multicollinearity, Menard, 2010).
Violations of these assumptions could lead to inefficient and biased estimates,
making it difficult to establish the true effect of regressors on the dependent variable.
Relatedly, the nature of the data and the covariates—particularly in small sample
sizes with categorical predictors—can undermine model estimation due to separation

3
For studies with few observations (e.g., fewer than 100), use exact logistic (Mehta & Patel, 1995).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 307

Fig. 7.1 Probability & cumulative density plots for normal and logit distributions

and empty cells. Perfect separation occurs when there is no variation for an inde-
pendent variable across the dependent variable. For example, if every student who
took calculus enrolled in college, highest math would perfectly (or near-perfectly)
predict college enrollment. Maximum likelihood estimation procedures will tend not
to work under such conditions. Another consideration is empty cells, which are a
result of insufficient observations in a particular category of an independent cate-
gorical variable. This can be an issue for categories that are traditionally underpow-
ered; such as the multi-racial category in race/ethnicity or for inferences into the
intersection of categorical variables (e.g., low-income students who have taken
calculus). See Menard (2010) for a detailed discussion of violations of these
assumptions and how to address them.
Example: Modeling College Enrollment To demonstrate the use and interpreta-
tion of binary outcome models, we estimated college enrollment as our outcome of
interest. We first estimated an unconditional (or restricted) model, that is, a regres-
sion with no covariates (an intercept only model) to compare with our manual
calculations above. Using this model, we found the odds ratio for college enrollment
is 1.04 (the same as the odds ratio we calculated by hand in Table 2). The full
308 A. Rodriguez et al.

Fig. 7.2 Density plot of predicted probabilities of college enrollment, full model (Source:
HSLS:2009)

(or unrestricted) model includes covariates that we hypothesized to explain four-year

college enrollment:

Pr ðEnroll ¼ 1Þ ¼ β0 þ β1 DEMS þ β2 ACAD þ β3 EXPECT þ β4 SCHOOL ð7:9Þ

that includes student demographics (DEMS, gender, race/ethnicity, family income,

parental education); academics (ACAD, high school GPA, test scores, number of
rigorous courses in high school, highest math course completed in high school); the
students and their friends’ college-going expectations (EXPECT); and a number of
high school controls (SCHOOL).4 We visually checked the distribution of predicted
probabilities using Stata’s predict and histogram commands to get a general sense of
the data (see the accompanying appendix for the presentation of the Stata code used
in the chapter). Figure 7.2 indicates a left-skewed distribution—a sizeable share of
the population has a greater than 50% predicted probability of college enrollment. A
summary of our predicted probabilities indicates the mean predicted probability is
around 0.66, with a range of 0.02 to 0.98.

4
Our students were nested within high schools, which might suggest we adjust standard errors due
to the heterogeneity found within high schools through the use of a vceðcluster Þ Stata option.
However, there is a tradeoff here. As Long and Freese (2014) discuss, using robust standard errors
no longer makes maximum likelihood an appropriate estimator. After comparing our model with
and without school-level clustered errors, we confirmed little difference in our findings and decided
to proceed without the robust errors. Models that include robust standard errors should rely on the
Wald, rather than the likelihood test (Sribney, n.d.).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 309

Goodness of Fit Next we take stock of how well our data fit the model by
examining the goodness-of-fit measures. The likelihood ratio test is calculated as
the difference between the logs of the likelihoods of the full (unrestricted) model and
unconditional (restricted) model, multiplied by 2, whereby a worse fit is denoted by
larger values:

Likelihood Ratio ¼ 2lnLðModelFull Þ  2lnLðModeluncond Þ ð7:10Þ

The likelihood ratio test statistic has a chi-squared distribution and we can therefore
treat it as a chi-square statistic (Menard, 2002) to test the null hypothesis that all
independent variables are simultaneously equal to zero (Long, 1997). Using Stata’s
fitstat post-estimation command provides a likelihood ratio test statistic of 2911,5
allowing us to reject the null hypothesis because a chi-square of 2911 with 1 degree
of freedom yields p < 0.001. The likelihood ratio test can also be used to compare
goodness-of-fit across nested models. For example, perhaps theory or prior research
indicates that English language learner (ELL) status would help improve the fit of the
model. Adding a dichotomous variable that denotes whether students are classified
as ELL (or not), the likelihood for the model drops slightly to 5531 (from 5533 in
the previous model). A likelihood ratio test between the models with and without the
ELL flag yields evidence of a modest improvement in model fit when adding the
ELL measure (χ2 ¼ 3.53, df ¼ 1, p < 0.10). While there is strong conceptual
justification for inclusion of this variable in prior literature (see Taggart & Crisp,
2011), we see that empirically doing so only marginally improves the fit of the
model. Its inclusion is a matter of choice for the researcher. For the sake of
consistency, we will use the model without the ELL covariate throughout the
chapter.
As one of many post-estimation commands in Stata, fitstat displays a suite of
summary diagnostic indicators.6 For example, if we wanted to compare either
non-nested models or the same model across different samples, we could use the
Akaike Information Criterion (AIC) and/or the Bayesian Information Criterion
statistics (BIC, Long & Freese, 2014). Both the AIC and BIC measures are calcu-
lated using the model’s likelihood, the number of parameters P, and the size of the
sample N:
 
AIC ¼ 2lnL Modelfull þ 2P ð7:11Þ
 
BIC ¼ 2lnL Modelfull þ PlnðN Þ ð7:12Þ

The models with the lower (rather than higher) AIC and BIC suggest a better fit.
As there is for linear regression models, there is no formal R2 statistic to assess a
logit model’s goodness of fit. However, researchers have derived a number of

5
2*[(6988)-(5533)].
6
If using survey data, Archer and Lemeshow (2006) argue one should account for survey sampling
design to calculate goodness-of-fit using the Stata command svylogitgof .
310 A. Rodriguez et al.

Table 7.3 Comparison of estimates of college enrollment from the logit modela
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)
Logit coefficients Odds ratios Marginal effects
Estimates S.E. Estimates S.E. Estimates S.E.
Female 0.130*** 0.048 1.138*** 0.055 0.022*** 0.008
Race
Native American 0.074 0.221 0.929 0.205 0.012 0.038
Asian 0.084 0.1 0.92 0.092 0.014 0.017
Black 0.251*** 0.087 1.285*** 0.112 0.041*** 0.014
Latino 0.131* 0.07 1.140* 0.079 0.022* 0.011
Multiracial 0.1 0.083 0.904 0.075 0.017 0.014
White – – – – – –
Academic controls
GPA, 10th grade 0.567*** 0.035 1.762*** 0.061 0.095*** 0.006
Math test score 0.005* 0.003 1.005* 0.003 0.001* 0.000
Number of AP credits 0.129*** 0.018 1.137*** 0.02 0.021*** 0.003
Other student-level controlsb x x x
School-level Controlc x x x
N 10,940 10,940 10,940
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: ***p < 0.001, **p < 0.01, *p < 0.05, ~ p < 0.1; (a) sample includes all students with base
year, follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates; (b) other student controls
includes parental education, income, highest math taken, whether friends plan to go to college;
(c) school-level controls includes urbanicity, school type, and share of students enrolled in 2-year
and 4-year colleges

pseudo-R2 measures that are available when using Stata (and other software pack-
ages) by invoking the fitstat command. As the default in Stata, McFadden’s R2
compares the log-likelihood of the full (unrestricted) model to an unconditional
(restricted) model. Like the R2 used in linear regression, this statistic is bounded by
0 and 1. The McFadden’s R2 for our unrestricted model is 0.204. An adjusted R2
measure is also presented. Similar to its linear regression equivalent, this R2 version
accounts for the number of parameters included in the model. For a more detailed
discussion about diagnostic statistics used for logistic regression see Long and
Freese (2014).

7.2.3 Interpretation of Findings

Coefficients and Odds Ratios Now that we have a sense of model fit, we can turn
to the model results reported in Table 7.3. This table includes a number of different
point estimates for selected regressors included in the model. For example, given the
functional form specified for the variance of the errors (π2/3), the (raw) coefficients
in column 1 are measured in log-odds or logit units, (Long, 1997). These coefficients
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 311

are very difficult to interpret, as they lack any practical meaning. But for complete-
ness, the 0.13 logit for the female variable indicates that the log-odds (logit) of
enrollment for women is 0.13 higher than that of men.
To ease interpretation, one can transform the logit coefficients (β) into odds ratios
(ORs) by exponentiating each raw (logit) coefficient using eβ ¼ odds ratio (OR),
where e is a mathematical constant that approximates to 2.718. To demonstrate, the
logit coefficient for females can be changed to an odds ratio by taking e0.13. Stata and
other statistical packages will compute the OR for you automatically; or you could
compute it using the exp. function either using a calculator or in Microsoft Excel,
where e(0.13) produces an odds ratio of 1.138, or, about 1.14 when rounded the
nearest hundredths (see the entry for “Female” in column 3 in Table 7.3).7 Our
unconditional (no regressors included) odds ratio for women presented in Table 7.2
was about 1.41, indicating that when we do not control for any other variables,
women have about a 41 percent [(OR – 1)  100 ¼ (1.41–1)  100 ¼ 0.41] higher
odds of enrolling in college than their male counterparts.8 However, when we
control for a set of variables that may confound this relationship, women have
about 14 percent greater odds of enrolling in college than men (OR ¼ 1.138,
p < 0.01), which is statistically significant (Table 7.3, column 3). Additionally,
when compared to the unconditional odds ratios of Black and Latino students’
(OR ¼ 0.66, p < 0.001 and OR ¼ 0.60, p < 0.001, respectively), odds flip signs
when we control for other factors, with the conditional model indicating higher odds
of college enrollment for Blacks and Hispanics versus conditional (OR ¼ 1.285,
p < 0.01 and OR ¼ 1.140, p < 0.10) compared to their White peers. Examining
continuous academic measures, we find that for every AP course credit received, the
average increase in the odds of college enrollment increases by about 76%
(OR ¼ 1.762, p < 0.001). Although odds ratios are easier to interpret than the
estimated logit coefficients, it is important to note that odds ratios and probabilities
are not on the same scale (see Eq. 7.3). Therefore, a doubling of odds is not
equivalent to a doubling of the probability (see Long & Freese, 2014, for details).9
Marginal Effects In Column 5 of Table 7.3 we present the estimates as marginal
effects, or the change in the probability of the outcome given a unit increase in an
independent variable. Marginal effects have the desirable property of being mea-
sured as percentage point changes in the probability of the outcome, which is likely
of substantive interest to researchers and their audience, and makes for a more direct
interpretation of coefficients in nonlinear models such as logit and probit models. For

7
Stata will automatically output odds ratios instead of raw coefficients by using the logistic
command, or one can obtain odds ratios by invoking the option when using the logit command.
8
A logistic regression model with college enrollment as the outcome and gender as the only
covariate will confirm that the odds ratio is indeed 1.41 ( p < 0.001).
9
In other words, there is a built-in nonlinearity to the relationship between each covariate and the
outcome. However, even with this nonlinearity imposed by the functional form, researchers still
need to consider whether any higher order (i.e., polynomials) of covariates are appropriate to
account for nonlinear relationships in the logit (or log-odds).
312 A. Rodriguez et al.

indicator (dummy) or categorical variables, the marginal effect represents the con-
trast between the reference (or omitted) category and the level of interest. From
Table 7.3 we observe that the marginal effect for females (female ¼ 1) is significant
but very small—women (female ¼ 1) have predicted probabilities of enrolling in
college that are 2.2 percentage points (0.022 x 100 ¼ 2.2) higher than men
(female ¼ 0), and this effect is significant at the p < 0.01 level. Calculated as a
partial derivative of a covariate (x) with respect to the outcome ( y), the marginal
effect for continuous independent variables is the change in probability associated
with an instantaneous change in the given explanatory variable, holding all other
covariates constant. We see (Column 5 in Table 7.3) that the effect of a marginal
increase of one Advanced Placement credit is associated with an increase in the
probability of college enrollment of 2.1 percentage points ( p < 0.001). In Stata,
marginal effects for the covariates can be obtained using the margins post-estimation
command invoked after estimating any regressions.
There are a number of ways that marginal effects can be computed, and there is
robust discussion about the pros and cons of each (Long & Freese, 2014). As noted
above, the marginal effect of any given independent variable depends on the values
of all other covariates (i.e., the values at which we hold them constant). A marginal
effect at the means (MEM) uses the mean values for each independent variable to
calculate the marginal effect.10 Therefore, the marginal effect is calculated for
someone who is average on all of the independent variables included in the model.
Though familiar and computationally less intensive than most alternatives, one
drawback of the MEM approach is that it raises the question of who, exactly, is
“average.” This is particularly salient for covariates measured categorically or as
integers. Does it make sense to hold the value of AP courses constant at 3.4, even
though taking fractional courses is impossible? Or, when controlling for gender
using a variable where female ¼ 1 and the proportion of women in the sample is
0.52, does it make sense that the average “gender” in the sample is held constant at
this value?
The average marginal effect (AME) approach is a more computationally intensive
alternative to MEM that bypasses the concerns mentioned earlier. To calculate
AMEs, we first compute the probability of the outcome (in our case, enrollment)
for each observation (person) using their actual values for the explanatory variables
included in the model. Then one variable is changed by some amount, often 1 unit
for categorical variables (i.e., the “delta” method), or a very small amount for
continuous measures, (but any interval could be used depending on the context),
and the outcome probability is recalculated for each person. The difference between
these two calculated probabilities is calculated for each observation (person) and
then averaged over the entire sample, leading to the AME. As such, the AME is
interpreted as the average change in the probability of the outcome resulting from
changing the independent variable by some amount. Because of advances in

10
Computed by adding the atmeans option when using the Stata margins command.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 313

Fig. 7.3 Average marginal effects on college enrollment by student GPA (Source: HSLS:2009)

statistical software, average marginal effects have become more prevalent in the
literature (Long & Freese, 2014). Note, however, that both approaches yield a single
point estimate for the marginal effect, but this effect may vary depending at what
point on the independent variable’s distribution the value is chosen. In both
approaches, a change in an independent variable in the tails of the S-shaped logit
(or probit) curve would yield different changes in probability than a one-unit change
near the center (at the mean) of this distribution due to the nonlinear nature of these
functions. Therefore, before choosing one of these approaches to interpretation of
the results, it is important to consider the pros and cons of AMEs and MEMs and
which one seems most appropriate given the objectives of the study.
A third approach is to calculate marginal effects at representative values (MER),
where marginal effects are calculated while holding the explanatory variables at
user-specified values. MERs allow for the computation of marginal effects along
different points of the distribution of independent variables (and not just the mean).
For example, we examined the marginal effect of high school GPA on college
enrollment across a wide range of plausible GPA values (1.0 to 4.0), and these
marginal effects are plotted in Fig. 7.3. While the marginal effect of GPA on
enrollment (the solid black line) remains positive (>0) across the different values
of GPA, the marginal effect decreases with increases in GPA, and the precision of
the marginal effect (as indicated by the confidence interval) increases with GPA.
That the marginal effect declines with GPA is unsurprising because college enroll-
ment for high-achieving students is quite high and distinctions between a 3.75 and a
4.0, for example, are challenging to isolate. Regardless of the way the marginal
effects are calculated, they are now quite easily available using statistical software
314 A. Rodriguez et al.

packages, and are often reported in tabular format or—for ease of interpretation—
plotted graphically.
Predicted Probabilities An alternative to coefficients or marginal effects is to
directly compute b p , or the predicted probabilities of the outcome of interest.
Predicted probabilities are particularly useful for the interpretation of interaction
terms. Remember that marginal effects compute partial derivatives, allowing one
variable to change while holding all others constant. For interactions, however, such
a calculation is impossible – to vary the interaction term, x1 ∗ x2, we cannot hold
either variable constant. Further, interaction coefficients can be difficult to interpret
in logistic regressions because of the log-odds transformation, which leads to
frequent misinterpretation in the literature (see Norton, Wang, & Ai, 2004, for a
detailed exposition). In the computation of marginal effects and predicted probabil-
ities, some software packages (such as Stata) automatically aggregate the effect of
interacted and polynomial terms.
To illustrate the use and interpretation, we added to the full model (Eq. 7.9) a
vector (INTERACT) of interaction terms of race, gender, and GPA (female*race,
GPA*race, female*GPA), as well as squared and cubed terms of GPA (GPA2 and
GPA3):

PðEnroll ¼ 1Þ ¼ β0 þ β1 DEMS þ β2 ACAD þ β3 EXPECT þ β4 SCHOOL

þ β5 INTERACT ð7:13Þ

The raw coefficients table is different than in main effects models (models without
interactions) in two important ways. First, we can no longer interpret the estimated
coefficients for GPA, race/ethnicity, and gender as main effects, but rather simple
effects for White males with average GPAs (the reference group). Second, coeffi-
cients that include gender, race, and GPA appear multiple times in the regression
output (not shown here) –3, 3, and 5 times, respectively—rendering the net relation-
ships between these measures and college enrollment challenging to interpret. Most
of the interaction terms as well as the cubed GPA term were statistically significant.
A table of predicted probabilities may be helpful in interpreting differences across
categorical groups (e.g., race and gender), which can be attained using the mtable
post-estimation command with the atðÞ option in Stata to specify values for the
covariates (table not shown here, see Appendix for relevant Stata code). Creating an
mtable for Black, Latino, and White and by gender revealed that, net of student- and
school-level variables, the probability of college enrollment is quite similar across
groups (the probabilities range from 0.649 for White men and 0.704 for Black
women).11
For continuous variables (e.g., GPA), researchers may also want to examine
predicted probabilities over the plausible values—perhaps through graphical

11
A formal statistical test can be applied to test the difference between two probabilities using
mtable and mlincom. For more, see Long and Freese (2014).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 315

Fig. 7.4 Predicted probability of college enrollment by GPA (Source: HSLS:2009)

analysis. We plotted the probability of college enrollment across the range of high
school GPAs (Fig. 7.4). As expected, students with higher GPAs have higher
probabilities of college enrollment. There is an inflection point at a GPA at about
2.5, where the slope of the curve begins to flatten out – a function of both the logit
functional form and of the polynomial terms of GPA included in the regression. This
shape of the curve indicates there is less differentiation in probability at the upper
end of the GPA curve, as A and B students are going to college at similar rates.
Continuing with our interrogation of college enrollment by gender and race, we
plotted the predicted probabilities of college enrollment for Black and White stu-
dents including an interaction of race and gender. Figure 7.5 shows that the proba-
bility of enrolling in college increases for both women and men as GPA increases,
net of other variables. Although they are largely parallel, the gender gap increases
slightly at the upper end of the GPA distribution. On the other hand, while Black
students are more likely to enroll in college, students with approximately a GPA of
3.0 enroll in college at similar rates, irrespective of race or gender. Plots of predicted
probabilities can illustrate the nuances that exist across the range of values as well as
interactions.
Subgroups of Interest Another advantage of using margins to explain the results of
binary regression models is the ability to estimate predicted probabilities for specific
groups within one’s sample. For example, if you want to produce marginal effects
for student profiles of interest, you can use the Stata mtable command. Using our
running example, if we want to examine the probability of college enrollment for
female students by parental education and income, a table of the marginal effects for
each of these contrasts can easily be produced (see Table 7.4). First, we employ a
316 A. Rodriguez et al.

Fig. 7.5 Probability of college enrollment by race, gender, and GPA (Source: HSLS:2009)

Table 7.4 Comparison of the probability of female college enrollment by select income and
parental education levels
Pr(college Lower Upper
enrollment) CI CI
Panel A: at the means
Low-income student whose parent(s) has no more than high 0.637 0.604 0.670
school degree
Middle-income student whose parent (s) enrolled in but did 0.650 0.592 0.708
not attain a college degree
High-income student whose parent(s) earned a college 0.808 0.787 0.829
degree
Panel B: at local means
Low-income student whose parent(s) has no more than high 0.554 0.520 0.587
school degree
Middle-income student whose parent(s) enrolled in but did 0.618 0.557 0.679
not attain a college degree
High-income student whose parent(s) earned a college 0.902 0.890 0.914
degree
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: Student-level controls include: gender, race, parental education, income, highest math taken,
whether friends plan to go to college; School-level controls includes urbanicity, school type, and
share of students enrolled in 2-year and 4-year colleges. Sample includes all students with base year,
follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates (N ¼ 10,940)
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 317

crosstab of parental education and income (using tab in Stata) to estimate clustering
of observations to build our profiles. We find there is a cluster of low-income
students whose parents have no more than a high school degree (low-income first-
generation college goers). There is also a cluster of high income students whose
parents have bachelor’s degrees (high-income non-first-generation college gradu-
ates). There is an additional set of students we can identify as being first-generation
four-year college-goers (their parents have not completed a four-year degree) and are
middle-income. We then examined the probability of college enrollment for these
three groups using mtable to set the values for gender, parental education, and
income associated with these three profiles and calculate their probabilities while
holding all other independent variables at their means (Panel A in Table 7.4).
In terms of their enrollment probabilities, there is about a 17 (probability) point
difference between the least (0.637) and most advantaged (0.808) students. These
findings may be limited because parental income and education is often related to
other measures, for example the availability of AP courses to students, with
low-income students being less likely to gain access to such advanced courses.
Therefore, plugging in mean values of the overall sample to calculate predicted
probabilities (as in Panel A) may not be as meaningful as plugging in local means for
covariates that are more representative of each group. This is an important difference
when you have covariates that are markedly different across groups (e.g., the mean
GPA for the least advantaged group is 2.59 versus 3.24 for the most advantaged
group). To recalculate the predicted probabilities using the local means, we first
created variables that identify each group of interest (e.g., low-income students
whose parents did not go to college). Then we used these three identifiers to
construct three separate mtables each producing sets of probabilities where the
covariates are held constant at their local means. These results allow us to observe
how students with high-income and bachelor’s degree holding parents are
advantaged. Their probability of enrolling in college is much higher (a 45-point
difference) relative to their low-income, first-generation peers (see Panel B in
Table 7.4). Long and Freese (2014) discuss how to formally test for differences in
these probabilities among subgroups. In general, predicted probabilities are useful
for interpreting differences in outcomes across subgroups, and computing predicted
probabilities ( b
p ) using local means can adjust for differences in covariates by
subgroups.
Classification or Predictive Accuracy Binary regression models are typically used
to predict the probability of outcomes for individual observations and they can also
be used to classify individuals (using these predicted probabilities) into categories.
For example, in higher education research, previous studies have predicted individ-
ual student enrollment propensities (DesJardins, 2002) and others have used
predicted probabilities to classify students into groups based on their chances of
gaining admission into selective colleges (2013). A simple way to examine how well
your model predicts the outcome of interest, another measure of goodness of fit, is to
extract the classification diagnostic information produced by logit regression
318 A. Rodriguez et al.

techniques. In Stata, this classification information is available by invoking the estat

classification command. The classification rate is a calculation of how often a
model correctly classifies observations into either y ¼ 1 or y ¼ 0; in our running
example, how well our logit model classifies college enrollment or not. A correct
classification rate (CCR) of 0.5 means the model correctly predicts outcomes 50% of
the time. Such a model would not outperform a random classifying scheme (e.g.,
flipping a coin to categorize). In addition to the overall classification rate, there are
two measures that researchers also often examine. One is sensitivity, or the rate at
which the model will correctly classify those experiencing the event or outcome.12
The unrestricted logit model we estimated correctly identified college-goers 89% of
the time (sensitivity of 0.89). Specificity is the rate at which the model correctly
classifies those who do not experience the outcome. Our model was not very
accurate in classifying non-college-goers (specificity of 0.50). Overall, our model
correctly classified college-going across the entire sample 76% of the time.
Hosmer et al. (2013) note that sensitivity and specificity are calculated based on a
single threshold value used to classify observations. Statistical programs such as
Stata, SPSS, and SAS all use a default predicted probability threshold of 0.50, but
researchers may want to specify a different cutoff probability for events with
particularly high or low probabilities of occurrence. One way to try to assess whether
a 0.50 cut point is optimal is by using the lsens command in Stata. This command
produces a plot of the sensitivity and specificity across the entire range of possible
threshold cut points that could be used. Ideally, we would select a cut point that
maximized both sensitivity and specificity measures – at their intersection. In the left
side panel in Fig. 7.6, we find the ideal probability cut point for classification is about
0.68. While the lsens graph can provide some indication of alternatives to the 0.50
default cut point, it does not tell us how well our model can discriminate college
goers from non-college goers in our data. To do so, we need a measure that captures
our ability to identify 100% of college-goers (sensitivity) and misidentify non-
college-goers 0% of the time (1-specificity) over all possible cut points. This plot
is known as the receiver operator characteristic (ROC) curve, whereby the area under
the curve is used to determine model fit—the closer to 1, the better the fit of the
model. The right-hand side panel of Fig. 7.6 illustrates the ROC curve, plotted with
the lroc command. The diagonal line represents random assignment to 0 or 1. There-
fore the area above that line represents a net increase in sensitivity and reduction in
specificity. In our example, the area under the curve is 0.795, which is on the margin
of being considered a “very good” fit.13 Hosmer et al. (2013) warn that the extent to
which a model can discriminate between outcomes is not only dependent on the fit of

12
The default classification threshold in Stata is a probability of 0.5 – observations with probabil-
ities above 0.5 are classified as 1; 0 otherwise.
13
To be clear, there are no absolute definition of an area under the curve measure that is a “good fit,”
but rather rules of thumb ranges: 0.5 is no discrimination (or no better than chance); 0.5 to 0.7 is
considered poor; 0.7 to 0.8 is acceptable; 0.8 to 0.9 is excellent; and greater than 0.9 is outstanding
(Hosmer et al., 2013).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 319

Fig. 7.6 Sensitivity and specificity versus probability/receiver operator characteristic curve
(Source: HSLS:2009)

the model, but on the nature of the outcome and differences between the two groups:
“we can have a well fitting models that discriminate poorly, just as we could have
models with poor fit that discriminate well” (Hosmer et al., 2013, p. 174).
Some scholars note that the aforementioned measures that assess predictive
accuracy actually overestimate the precision of these models (DesJardins, 2002;
Hosmer et al., 2013). If the researcher’s intention is to use data outside of the sample
used to derive the model (e.g., in predicting admission or enrollment behaviors using
historical data), they should not assume that their models will have similar predictive
accuracy. Therefore, in order to better make the case for a model’s accuracy in
classifying observations or predicting outcomes, researchers should first estimate the
model with a random subsample of observations, and then test their predictive
accuracy on the reserve (or validation) sample using these tests. See DesJardins
(2002) and Chapter 5 of Hosmer et al. (2013) for more on the out-of-sample
validation approach.
320 A. Rodriguez et al.

7.2.4 Probit Regression

We now turn to another technique often used to model binary outcomes, the probit
model, and juxtapose it to the logit model discussed above. To transform probabil-
ities into a continuous variable that ranges from –1 to +1, the probit approach
relies on the inverse cumulative distribution function based on a normal distribution,
called the probit link. The cumulative distribution function can transform any value
into a value between 0 and 1. Therefore, its inverse can transform the probabilities
that range from 0 to 1 into 1. The probit function is formally defined by:

Ф1 ½Pr ðy ¼ 1jxÞ ¼ X 0 β ð7:14Þ

Pr ðy ¼ 1jxÞ ¼ ФðxβÞ ð7:15Þ

Where Ф is the cumulative normal distribution function, the 1 takes its inverse, and
0
X β results in a z-score for the probability of the outcome occurring for each record.
As such, the coefficient of a probit regression is interpreted as the change in the
z-score of the probability of the event occurring. As with logit, probit is typically
estimated using maximum likelihood estimation. One assumption of the probit that
is distinct from logit is that the errors are assumed to be normally distributed, with a
mean of zero and a variance of 1. Recalling Fig. 7.1, the distribution of errors follows
the normal curve for both the probability and cumulative density functions, with
thinner tails for the logit than for the probit. Approaches to ascertaining goodness-of-
fit are similar to those discussed for logit regression.
Interpretation We estimated the same unrestricted model used for the discussion
of the logit model. In Table 7.5, the probit coefficients are presented as well as their
accompanying marginal effects. The coefficients estimated using the probit model
are interpreted in the following way: for each one unit change in the regressor of
b with larger z-scores being associated
interest, the z-score of enrollment changes by β,
with higher probabilities for the outcome of interest. In our running example, we find
women’s probabilities of enrolling in college are 0.075 standard deviations higher
than that of their male counterparts ( p < 0.01). Interpreting these results in a slightly
different way, each one-point change in high school GPA (measured from 0.0 to 4.0)
increases the probit index by about one-third of a z-score (βb ¼ 0.337, p < 0.01).
When compared to the logit coefficients
pffiffiffi in Table 7.3, the magnitude of the probit
coefficients are smaller by roughly 3=π, the conditional variance of the errors
assumed for the logit. (Equivalently, the logit coefficients are larger than the probit
coefficients by a factor of about 1.7). This difference in the magnitude of the point
estimates reflects the assumptions made about the distribution of the (conditional)
error variances in the logit and probit models.
Some people find it difficult to interpret the z-score coefficients from probit
regressions directly, as they are not expressed in readily understood units.
Researchers often revert to presenting probit regression results using predicted
probabilities and marginal effects, and we include the latter from our estimated
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 321

Table 7.5 Comparison of estimates of the probability of college enrollment, probit and linear
probability modelsa
(1) (2) (3)
Probit coefficients Probit MEs LPM coefficients
Estimates S.E. Estimates S.E. Estimates S.E.
Female 0.075*** 0.028 0.022*** 0.008 0.020** 0.008
Race
Native American 0.055 0.129 0.016 0.038 0.013 0.039
Asian 0.064 0.056 0.019 0.016 0.013 0.016
Black 0.147*** 0.051 0.041*** 0.014 0.045*** 0.015
Latino 0.075* 0.041 0.021* 0.011 0.022* 0.012
Multiracial 0.06 0.048 0.017 0.014 0.018 0.014
White – – – – – –
Academic controls
GPA, 10th grade 0.337*** 0.02 0.096*** 0.006 0.111*** 0.006
Math test score 0.003** 0.002 0.001** 0 0.001** 0
Number of AP credits 0.066*** 0.01 0.019*** 0.003 0.013*** 0.002
Other student-level controls b x x x

School-level controlc x x x
N 10,940 10,940 10,940
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: ***p < 0.001, **p < 0.01, *p < 0.05, ~p < 0.1; (a) sample includes all students with base
year, follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates; (b) other student controls
includes parental education, income, highest math taken, whether friends plan to go to college;
(c) school-level controls includes urbanicity, school type, and share of students enrolled in 2-year
and 4-year colleges

model results displayed in the third column of Table 7.5. Not surprisingly, the
marginal effects derived from the probit are quite similar to those produced by the
logit model presented in Table 7.3, and are interpreted in an equivalent manner.

7.2.5 Linear Probability Model

It is not uncommon for researchers to use the linear probability model (LPM) to
estimate models where the outcome is binary (e.g., Dynarski, 2004; Hurwitz, 2012).
The appeal of the LPM stems from the straightforward interpretation of its coeffi-
cients because the coefficients are, simply, marginal effects (i.e., changes in proba-
bilities), holding all other variables constant. A dichotomous dependent variable
takes on only two values (e.g., enrollment in college ¼ 1; non-enrollment ¼ 0), thus,
OLS regression estimates the mean of that dichotomous outcome – i.e., its expected
frequency, and the predicted dependent variable from an LPM, b y , is the (conditional)
predicted probability of enrollment.
322 A. Rodriguez et al.

Formally the LPM model can be defined as:

Pr ðyi ¼ 1jxÞ ¼ X 0 β þ εi ð7:16Þ

where y is a categorical outcome for student i who enrolls in college (y ¼ 1) or not

(y ¼ 0); X’ is a vector of explanatory variables (e.g., academic ability, demographic
characteristics, college-promoting networks, and school measures) thought to be
related to one’s enrollment probability; β is a corresponding vector of parameters to
be estimated, and ε represents the error term, which is assumed to be normally
distributed.
The LPM has the same set of assumptions as an OLS regression using a
continuous dependent variable, and interrogating these assumptions is essential to
understanding whether the model is appropriate to the estimation task at-hand (Long,
1997). One assumption is linearity, where the dependent variable ( y) and the
independent variables (x’s) are assumed to be linearly related through the parameters
in vector β. A second assumption is collinearity, where the x’s are assumed to be
independent, that is, none of the regressors (x’s) are a linear combination of the other
covariates. Next, the error term (ε) is expected to be normally distributed (normality)
with a mean of zero given a set of x’s (the zero conditional mean of ε assumption).
Additionally, the errors are assumed to be uncorrelated (uncorrelated errors) and to
have a constant variance across observations, the latter being known as homosce-
dasticity. Intuitively, these last two assumptions suggest that the values observed for
one student should not depend on the observed values of another student, and the
distribution of the errors should be similar across each covariate (x). A common way
to estimate the LPM is using ordinary least squares (OLS), where the objective is to
minimize the sum of the squared errors (Long, 1997).
Example: Modeling College Enrollment As with our examples discussed above,
we estimated the probability of college enrollment using the following model:

Pr ðEnroll ¼ 1Þ ¼ β0 þ β1 DEMS þ β2 ACAD þ β3 EXPECT

þ β4 SCHOOL ð7:17Þ

where Enroll is 1 if a student enrolled in college, and 0 if they did not; DEMS,
ACAD, EXPECT, and SCHOOL are vectors of independent variables (described
previously) and their corresponding parameters β’s that are to be estimated, and ε is a
randomly distributed error term accounting for mis- and unmeasured explanatory
variables related to college enrollment. The LPM relies on the same measures of
goodness of fit, such as the R2, as when using OLS to estimate a continuous
dependent variable. Our results indicate that the R2 for this model is 0.24, which is
a measure that is not (technically) comparable to McFadden’s R2 often used for the
logit and probit models.

Interpretation of Findings The interpretation of the coefficients β) b is similar to
that of a standard linear regression model with a continuous outcome–a one unit
change in an explanatory variable x (e.g., one’s high school GPA), results in a βb
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 323

Fig. 7.7 Distribution of predicted probabilities of enrollment: Linear probability model (Source:
HSLS:2009)

change in the probability of the outcome, in this case, college enrollment (ceteris
paribus). The fifth column in Table 7.5 displays the coefficient estimates produced
by the LPM (as well as the associated standard errors). On average and net of other
variables, women have probabilities of college enrollment that are about two per-
centage points higher than men (βb ¼ 0.020, p < 0.05). When examining race, Black
(Latino) students’ probabilities of enrolling in college are 4.5 (2.2) percentage points
higher than White students. In terms of high school GPA, each one-unit increase
results in an 11.1 percentage point increase in the probability of college enrollment
( p < 0.001). All of these estimates are similar to the marginal effects produced by
the logit and probit regressions (see Table 7.3). However, an important distinction is
 
that the LPM imposes a linear constraint such that the effect βb for each variable (x)
is the same (constant) no matter the value of x (i.e., plotting the OLS estimate in
Fig. 7.4 would produce a horizontal line at about 0.11).
As is true for the non-linear logit and probit regression models, we can predict the
probability of college enrollment for each individual using the LPM results, and
these results are presented in Fig. 7.7. It may be troubling that some predictions
(about 4%) fall outside of the [0,1] probability interval, thereby providing clearly
nonsensical predictions.
We then examined how to use the OLS results to classify students. Although we
are unable to use post-estimation commands for classification as we did for logit and
probit, we classified students into college enrollment using a threshold of 0.5 and
compared it to the observed outcome. We found that similar to the logit model, the
LPM’s sensitivity (the percent of observations it correctly classified as college-
324 A. Rodriguez et al.

going) was 90.0 percent and the specificity (the percent of non-college-goers it
correctly classified) was slightly lower at 47.8 percent.
Drawbacks of the LPM Although LPM is appealing due to its familiarity and
intuitive coefficient estimates, the out-of-range predictions in Fig. 7.7 suggest there
are limitations to this model. Indeed, many of the assumptions used in the linear
regression framework are violated when using a dependent binary outcome. Long
(1997) points to four issues with the LPM that we illustrate with our data, below.
Functional Form A fundamental assumption about the linear model is that a given
variable (x) will have the same relationship with the outcome ( y) across all values of
x. In our example from Table 7.5, a one-unit increase in GPA results in a constant
change a student’s probability of college enrollment across all values of GPA,
holding all other variables constant. This implies that the difference in the probabil-
ity of college enrollment between students with GPAs of 4.0 and 3.0 to be
11 points—the same as the difference between students with 1.0 and 2.0 GPAs
(net of other variables). However, we know that college enrollment is quite high
among B students; and the differences in college-going may be greater between C
and D students than A and B students (as suggested in Fig. 7.3). Therefore, a linear
relationship may not best describe how changes in GPA influence changes in college
enrollment. One potential way to address such nonlinearity in the relationship
between y and a given x is to include nonlinear terms or other transformed versions
of x (e.g., polynomials or logged terms).
Heteroscedasticity The assumption that there is constant variance in the x’s across
the ranges of values is categorically (no pun intended) violated. Mathematically, the
variance of a binary outcome y is μ(1-μ), given mean μ. When conditioning on
variables x, then:

Var ðyjxÞ ¼ Pr ðy ¼ 1jxÞ∗ 1  Pr ðy ¼ 1jxÞ ¼ xβ∗ð1  xβÞ ð7:18Þ

meaning that the conditional variance of y, conditional on x, varies with x. Thus, as

Long (1997) notes, the variance of the errors for a binary outcome is not constant,
nor are the values of the x’s independent. We plot the residuals from the LPM model
against its predicted values (using the rvfplot command in Stata) in Fig. 7.8, which
demonstrates significant heteroscedasticity in the observations in our sample. If the
variance was constant, we would expect to see a random pattern of observations
around the length of the horizontal line located at y ¼ 0. Although such graphical
approaches are useful, to formally test whether the variance is constant we use the
estat imtest command, which tests the null hypotheses that the variance of the errors
is constant and normally distributed. The results of this test (not shown) indicates
that the residual variance of the errors is heteroskedastic, thus “the OLS estimator of
β is inefficient and the standard errors are biased” (Long, 1997, p. 38).
Non-Normality of Errors The errors of a binary outcome are not normally dis-
tributed around the x’s. Residuals, you may recall, are calculated as the difference
between the observed and estimated (or fitted) values. Because binary outcomes can
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 325

Fig. 7.8 Results of residual-versus-fitted plot for the linear probability model (Source:
HSLS:2009)

only take on the values of 0 or 1, residuals can take on only one of two values
(Fig. 7.8). For example, for all students who a have an estimated probability of
enrollment of 0.80, they have one of two residual values: +0.80 if they actually did
not enroll in college or 0.20 if they did. Therefore, structurally, the distribution of
errors cannot be normal. You can also examine the normality of the distribution in
Stata (Chen, Ender, Mitchell, & Wells, 2003). We first stored the errors using the
predict command and then compared the density plot of the errors to the normal
distribution using the kdensity command (Fig. 7.9), which shows a skewed distri-
bution of errors. In addition to a visual inspection of the errors we can also employ
one of a number of statistical tests of normality in finite samples. The skewness and
kurtosis test for normality (sktest in Stata) assesses the symmetry and tail thickness of
a distribution, which indeed confirms our visual inspection of Fig. 7.9 ( p < 0.001 for
both skewness and kurtosis).
Out-of-Range Predictions As we illustrated in Fig. 7.7, the LPM can produce
probability estimates that are out of the range of plausible values. Indeed, 4% of our
sample had predicted probabilities that were either less than zero or greater than
1. However, the college enrollment rate for this sample is somewhat balanced (66%),
but when modeling rare or very common events—where the majority of the prob-
abilities are in the tails of the distribution, a LPM will likely produce a larger share of
out-of-range predictions. To demonstrate this issue we produce an example where
we modeled student expectations to enroll in college –which is known to be
universally high (91% of our sample expects to go to college)—we find that the
326 A. Rodriguez et al.

Fig. 7.9 Comparison of kernel density plots, linear probability model estimates and normal
distribution (Source: HSLS:2009)

LPM produces predicted probabilities greater than one for almost one-quarter (22%)
of the sample, but none less than zero. These findings are, however, sample
dependent, as indicated by no predicted probabilities less than one which is due to
the very high percentage (91%) of students in the sample who have expectations for
going to college. To further illustrate these differences, the boxplot in Fig. 7.10
compares the range of predicted probability estimates for college expectations for the
logit, probit, and LPM college expectations model. The LPM has a slightly lower
mean predicted probability of expecting to go to college, a larger range of predicted
values than the logit and probit, and the upper whisker extended beyond the upper
limit of 1, whereas the predicted probabilities for the logit and probit models are
bounded by 0 and 1 by construction.
A final illustration details the differences in predicted probabilities in the tails of
distribution. Because the probabilities of college enrollment would largely lie in the
linear portion of the probit’s s-curve, we would expect the college enrollment
probability estimates derived from the probit model not to deviate as much from
the LPM (save for the tails). However, because the range of probabilities for the
college expectations model are generally at the upper end of the distribution, we
would expect the linear probability model to diverge for many of the aforementioned
reasons. We therefore plotted the predicted probabilities produced by the LPM
against those produced by the probit (the logit exhibits a similar result) in a scatter
plot for both the college enrollment (Panel A) and college expectations (Panel B)
models to illustrate the differences in results (Fig. 7.11). A perfect alignment
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 327

Fig. 7.10 Comparison of predicted probabilities for college expectations (Source: HSLS:2009)

Fig. 7.11 Scatter plot of predicted probabilities for probit and LPM estimates, for college enroll-
ment and college expectations (Source: HSLS:2009)
328 A. Rodriguez et al.

between the probit and LPM predictions would produce a diagonal line from (0, 0) to
(1,1). In Panel A, we observe that the deviations between the linear and probit
models are largely in the tails of the sigmoid (S-shaped) curve, which is consistent
with their underlying assumptions about the distribution of errors. In Panel B, we
find there are large differences in the probit and LPM estimates when modeling an
event at the top end of the probability distribution (e.g., where over 90 percent of
events occur). This provides further evidence that the LPM may be an inappropriate
approach when modeling rare or common.
Moreover, some measures in an LPM may require transformations that are not
necessary in logit and probit models. Consider the measure number of AP credits,
which the LPM exhibits a small negative (but insignificant) relationship with college
expectations of ( βb ¼ -0.001, p > 0.10) yet the probit estimates a positive and
significant relationship ( βb ¼0.011, p < 0.001, Table 7.6). A plot of the predicted
probabilities indicates that the LPM estimates diverge from the probit and logit as the
number of AP courses increases, and the LPM estimates also become much less
precise with increases in the number of AP courses completed (Fig. 7.12). A closer
look at AP credits reveals that it is heavily skewed right, as many students take none
or only one AP course. Due to the linear relationship assumed in the functional form
when using the LPM, modeling of nonlinear outcomes with highly skewed distri-
butions while using highly skewed covariates may yield unexpected results. Without
transformations of covariates into nonlinear terms, the LPM may not properly
account for the clustering of observations at the extremes of the variable distribu-
tions. Researchers should consider the prevalence of their outcome and distribution
of their covariates before employing this approach.

7.2.6 Conclusion

The ubiquity of binary outcomes in education research has necessitated the use of
nonlinear estimation approaches such as the logit and probit. To be sure, linear
probability models remain quite popular for estimating dichotomous dependent
variables. Notwithstanding the problems noted, some of the reasons the LPM
remains popular is its familiarity and the simplicity of the interpretation of the
point estimates. Also, there are adjustments that can be made that will remedy
some of the assumption violations, such as employing the use of robust standard
errors and transforming independent variables that one may think are non-linearly
related to the outcome. Nonetheless, the decision of whether to use LPM, logit, or
probit when estimating binary outcomes remains a topic of active discussion. Some
scholars contend that researchers who employ the LPM should do so with caution
because of functional form violations (Long, 1997) and/or the production of
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 329

Table 7.6 Comparison of marginal effects on college expectation from logit, probit, and linear
probability modelsa
Logit MEs Probit MEs LPM Coefficients
Estimates S.E. Estimates S.E. Estimates S.E.
Female 0.021*** 0.005 0.019*** 0.005 0.018*** 0.005
Race
Native American 0.031 0.019 0.027 0.02 0.041* 0.025
Asian 0.006 0.014 0.013 0.013 0.001 0.010
Black 0.031*** 0.007 0.032*** 0.007 0.044*** 0.010
Latino 0.003 0.007 0.002 0.007 0.005 0.008
Multiracial 0.002 0.009 0.001 0.009 0.007 0.009
White – – – – – –
Academic controls
GPA, 10th grade 0.040*** 0.003 0.041*** 0.003 0.056*** 0.004
Math test score 0.002*** 0.000 0.002*** 0.000 0.002*** 0.000
Number of AP credits 0.018*** 0.004 0.011*** 0.003 0.001 0.001
Other student-level controlsb x x x
School-level controlsc x x x
N 10,940 10,940 10,940
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: ***p < 0.001, **p < 0.01, *p < 0.05, ~p < 0.1; (a) sample includes all students with base
year, follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates; (b) other student controls
includes parental education, income, highest math taken, whether friends plan to go to college;
(c) school-level controls includes urbanicity, school type, and share of students enrolled in 2-year
and 4-year colleges

inaccurate estimates (Horace & Oaxaca, 2006). In contrast, other scholars argue that
the LPM is a parsimonious estimation approach that yields similar results to logit or
probit modeling under a variety of common conditions (Angrist & Pishke, 2009).
There are, of course, tradeoffs to using each approach, and understanding one’s
data, the conceptual foundations of the issues being examined, and underlying
statistical assumptions and how robust the method is to violations of these assump-
tions are important considerations when choosing an estimator for binary outcomes.
The choice between logit or probit is largely dependent on researcher preference and
disciplinary norms, though under some circumstances, the probit will have a mar-
ginally better fit than the logit (see Hahn & Soyer, 2005, for details). However, given
the assumption used for the error distribution, the logit performs well with explan-
atory variables containing extreme values concentrated in the tails of the distribution.
In addition, the logit link function allows for the calculation of the odds ratio, which
may be useful in interpretation of one’s findings. Moreover, there are some statistical
applications that use a specific link function, such as the two-step Heckman selection
model which relies on the probit link function for the first step/first-stage equation
because the technique assumes bivariate normal errors (Greene, 2002), so under-
standing it is necessary when employing these techniques.
330 A. Rodriguez et al.

Fig. 7.12 Comparison of predicted probabilities of college expectations by AP credits and

modeling approach (Source: HSLS:2009)

7.3 Ordinal Outcomes

In higher education research, there are a number of commonly studied categorical

outcomes that take on more than two values and have values that can be ranked or set
in some hierarchy. For example, researchers may want to analyze higher education
public opinion data using Likert scales (e.g., ranked from “strongly disagree” to
“strongly agree”); one could estimate the probability of students enrolling in colleges
according to hierarchical categories of institutional selectivity (e.g., from “least” to
“most” selective institutions); we could estimate the probability of earning a partic-
ular grade in a college course where grades are ranked from “A” to “F”); or we might
estimate high school students’ postsecondary expectations from “no college” to
“doctoral degree.” To model the probability of the event when the outcome measure
is ordinal, scholars have employed the ordered logit or ordered probit models
(Brasfield, Harrison, & McCoy, 1993; Cheng & Starks, 2002; Doyle, 2007; Morri-
son, Rudd, Picciano, & Nerad, 2011; Myers & Myers, 2012). For example, in their
study of prestige and job satisfaction, Morrison et al. (2011) used ordered logistic
regression to examine responses from survey data of faculty perceptions of institu-
tional prestige.14

14
An additional approach that is not discussed here but may of use to higher education researchers is
the sequential logit, which models events that individual experience in sequence—for example
course-taking (Algebra I, Algebra II, Pre-Calculus); admission stages (application, admission,
enrollment); tenure-track faculty positions (Assistant, Associate, Full).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 331

Ordinal outcome variables may represent an underlying continuous latent con-

struct. Drawing from the aforementioned examples—faculty’s perceptions of job
satisfaction, institutional selectivity, learning (as captured through course grades),
etc.—are all complex constructs that may have underlying but unobserved values
that are actually continuous. However, we only observe the realizations of this
underlying continuous construct. As an extension of binary regression, ordinal
regression is similar to logit or probit modeling except there are several (rather
than one) cut points along the distribution of the latent dependent variable that cut
this distribution into categories that can be observed. To illustrate this latent variable
concept, the structural model can be defined as:

y∗ ¼ X 0 β þ ε ð7:19Þ
0
where y∗is a latent continuous outcome that is unobserved and ranges from 1; X
is a vector of regressors; β is a set of corresponding parameters; and ε is a vector of
error terms. The categories of outcomes are then defined by thresholds (τ) using the
following measurement model:

y ¼ c if τc1  y∗  τc , for c ¼ 1 to J ð7:20Þ

where the observed outcome ( y) provides “incomplete information about an under-

lying y∗” (Long, 1997, p. 116) but these thresholds assign the cth outcome category
of J possible categories depending on whether the latent measure y∗ falls between a
lower bound τc  1 and upper bound τc (Long, 1997).15 To illustrate, our latent
construct we use the selectivity of an institution that a student might choose to attend
and we want to model this as a four-category ordinal outcome. These categories are
defined as follows:
8
>
> 1, no college if τ0 ¼ 1  y∗ < τ1
<
2, less selective college if τ1  y∗ < τ2
y¼
>
> 3, selective college if τ2  y∗ < τ3
:
4, most selective college if τ3  y∗ < τ4 ¼ 1

Using some algebraic manipulation and making some assumptions about error
distributions allows us to provide estimates of the probabilities that a student will
be in each of the categories noted in Eq. 7.20. Formally,

Prðy ¼ cjxÞ ¼ F ðτc  X 0 βÞ  F ðτc1  X 0 βÞ ð7:21Þ

where F is the cumulative distribution function (for either the logit or probit), x is a
vector of covariates; and β is a corresponding vector of parameters. The probability
of observing outcome c is equivalent to the difference between the probabilities of

15
For a graphical representation of the cut points, see Long (1997).
332 A. Rodriguez et al.

being bounded by two thresholds along the cumulative distribution function. Similar
to the binary models, this model is estimated using maximum likelihood estimation
techniques.

7.3.1 Assumptions

In order to estimate the ordinal regression model, a number of assumptions need to

be made about the distribution of errors that are similar to those noted in the binary
outcomes section. The ordinal logit has a logistic error distribution with a mean of
zero and a variance of (π2/3), and the errors are assumed to be normally distributed
with a mean a zero and variance of 1 for the ordinal probit model. One additional
assumption for ordinal regression is that the slopes of the included regressors are
constant across all the outcome categories, which is known as the parallel slopes
(or proportional odds) assumption.16 To illustrate, if we modeled enrollment across
institutional selectivity categories and included gender as a covariate, women would
have the same slope coefficient ( β) b for enrollment at a less selective college as they
would for a most selective college. This is a very stringent assumption that com-
monly fails formals tests. There are formal tests of this assumption that are com-
monly used (discussed below), one comparing the fit of the model using its log
likelihood to a model with relaxed assumptions, known as the generalized ordered
logit model17 (likelihood ratio and score tests) or a test whether the βb s are
significantly different across categories (Wald or Brant tests).
There are a number of approaches one can take when the parallel slopes
(or parallel regression) assumption fails. First, one can identify and remove variables
thought to differ across outcome categories, but this strategy may not appeal to
researchers if the variable(s) in question are conceptually important. Second, one can
fit the model using multinomial regression (discussed in the following section).
When employing a multinomial regression (mlogit), the assumption that the cate-
gories are ordered is relaxed and thus the parallel slopes assumption no longer
applies. Imposing a rank-order of outcomes that are not ordinal (and thereby the
parallel slopes assumption) will bias your estimates (Borooah, 2002). However, if
the dependent variable is truly ordinal and we treat it is as nominal, we may be faced
with a loss of efficiency because we have “fail[ed] to impose a legitimate ranking on
the outcomes” (Borooah, 2002, p. 3). In choosing between the tradeoff of model
efficiency and estimate bias, the former is usually favored, and therefore applying a
multionomial regression would be an appropriate course of action..
In some cases, researchers have used OLS regression to model ordinal outcome
variables (e.g., modeling Likert-scale responses as continuous). Conceptually, such

16
See Long (1997) for the derivation of the parallel regression assumption.
17
The generalized ordered logit model does not assume that the βb ’s are equal. See Long and
Freese (2014).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 333

an approach assumes that the categories are spaced equidistantly. However, this
equidistance assumption may not be true for ordinal data because the magnitude of
the differences between categories can vary in ways that are unknown. For example,
when employing OLS to estimate our college selectivity dependent variable, the
magnitude in the underlying latent construct between not going to college and
choosing a less selective college is assumed to be the same as the distance between
choosing a very selective and most selective college. However, this may not be case,
as there is a lot of heterogeneity within institutional selectivity categories, particu-
larly among less-selective institutions (Bastedo & Flaster, 2014). As a result, the use
of OLS to model ordinal outcomes may violate a number of assumptions – partic-
ularly the normality and heteroscedasticity assumptions. Winship and Mare (1984)
discuss how the ordinal probit and OLS models can produce disparate estimates,
some of which parallels our own discussion of the use of linear probability models in
Section III above.

7.3.2 Our Example: College Enrollment by Institutional

Selectivity

In this section we build on our example from the binary outcomes section where the
dependent variable is a dichotomous outcome of enrollment/not in college. In this
section the dependent variable is one containing four college choice categories: did
not attend college, attended a less selective, selective, or most selective college,
which is (a priori) assumed to be ordinal. In terms of how students are distributed
across these four categories, 49% of students did not enroll in college; 23% enrolled
in a less selective institution; 15% enrolled in a selective college; and 12% enrolled
in one of the most selective colleges. We included as covariates the same variables
used in the binary outcome model discussed above (demographic, academic, expec-
tations, student networks, and school controls), and estimated the ordinal model
using the ologit command in Stata.
Before interpreting the point estimates produced by the ordinal regression,18 we
check whether the parallel regression assumption is satisfied using a likelihood ratio
test (oparallel) and Brant test (brant). The likelihood ratio test compares the overall
model fit of a ordinal logit with a generalized ordered logit model that does not
impose the parallel regression assumption.19 Here, the null hypothesis is that the two
models fit the data similarly. For our running example, the likelihood ratio test is
statistically significant ( p < 0.001), meaning we can reject the null hypothesis
because the generalized model is a better fit. You can also test the extent to which
individual covariates violate the parallel regression assumption using the brant
command. Brant test results are displayed in the first column of Table 7.7 and

18
For brevity, we do not include hypothesis tests of the ordered logit or probit, but refer readers to
Long and Freese’s (2014) overview.
19
For more on generalized ordered logit models, see Long and Freese (2014).
 334

Table 7.7 Comparison of marginal effects for ordinal logit and multinomial logit models of enrollment by selectivity
Ordinal logit estimates Multinomial logit estimates
Brant test No college Less Sel. Sel. Most Sel. No college Less Sel. Sel. Most Sel.
Female FAIL 0.010 0.001 0.004 0.007 0.024** 0.024** 0.011 0.011
(0.006) (0.000) (0.002) (0.004) (0.008) (0.008) (0.008) (0.006)
Race
Native American 0.034 0.001*** 0.013 0.022 0.011 0.047 0.019 0.077**
(0.028) (0.000) (0.011) (0.017) (0.039) (0.041) (0.040) (0.028)
Asian FAIL 0.030** 0.003* 0.011** 0.022** 0.022 0.024 0.027 0.029**
(0.011) (0.001) (0.004) (0.008) (0.018) (0.018) (0.014) (0.010)
Black 0.027** 0.003* 0.010** 0.020* 0.039** 0.021 0.007 0.010
(0.010) (0.001) (0.004) (0.008) (0.014) (0.015) (0.016) (0.013)
Latino FAIL 0.004 0.000 0.001 0.003 0.015 0.061*** 0.039*** 0.006
(0.009) (0.001) (0.003) (0.006) (0.012) (0.013) (0.012) (0.010)
Multiracial 0.029** 0.001*** 0.011** 0.019** 0.021 0.013 0.009 0.025*
(0.011) (0.000) (0.004) (0.007) (0.014) (0.015) (0.014) (0.011)
White – – – – – – – – –
Academic controls
GPA, 10th grade FAIL 0.096*** 0.007*** 0.035*** 0.068*** 0.106*** 0.021*** 0.047*** 0.081***
(0.004) (0.001) (0.002) (0.003) (0.006) (0.006) (0.007) (0.006)
Math test score FAIL 0.002*** 0.000*** 0.001*** 0.002*** 0.001 0.002*** 0.001 0.003***
(0.000) (0.000) (0.000) (0.000) (0.000) (0.000) (0.000) (0.000)
A. Rodriguez et al.
 Number of AP credits FAIL 0.031*** 0.002*** 0.011*** 0.022*** 0.007* 0.019*** 0.010*** 0.016***
(0.002) (0.000) (0.001) (0.001) (0.003) (0.003) (0.002) (0.001)
Other student-level controlsb FAIL x x
School-level controlc FAIL x x
N 10,940 10,940 10,940
Notes: *** p < 0.001, ** p < 0.01, * p < 0.05, ~ p < 0.1; (a) sample includes all students with base year, follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data
on covariates (N ¼ 10,940); (b) other student controls includes parental education, income, highest math taken, whether friends plan to go to college; (c) school-
level controls includes urbanicity, school type, and share of students enrolled in 2-year and 4-year colleges
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education
335
336 A. Rodriguez et al.

indicate that the test fails for about half of our βb s, which is not wholly uncommon.
Parallel assumption tests are highly sensitive and can fail due to factors unrelated to
the parallel regression assumption (Long & Freese, 2014). A less formal way to test
whether the parallel regression assumption is violated is to compare the estimates
produced by the ordinal model to estimates produced by a multinomial regression
model. We did so (see Table 7.7) and when comparing the marginal effects20
between the two models we find that some of the estimates are substantively
different across the ordinal and multinomial models (e.g., gender, Asian students).
Taken together, we have evidence that the ordinal regression approach is not
appropriate for examining the probability of enrollment across institutional selectiv-
ity in this sample, thus, in the next section we demonstrate how to employ a
multinomial regression as an alternative.
Although the parallel slopes violation indicates that the ordinal model is not
appropriate in this context, for illustrative purposes we discuss and interpret the
ordinal regression model estimates (not shown here) to serve as a reference for
researchers employing ordinal regression approaches. Similar to coefficients
resulting from binary regression, ordinal logit and ordinal probit coefficients differ
by a factor of 1.7, given underlying assumptions of the distribution of errors
(as discussed in Section III). Moreover, a two-category ordinal regression yields
the same coefficients as a binary regression. It is important to note that regression
output from common statistical packages also includes estimates for the J-1 cut
points. If you recall from Eq. 7.20, the ordinal outcome is conceptualized as a latent
continuous measure (y*) which is carved up into J categories by the J-1 cut points.
When J ¼ 2 (i.e., when there are two outcome categories, as in a binary regression),
the cut point is (basically) equivalent to the constant or intercept (α) in a binary
model. But in our running example we have four categories (J ¼ 4) which results in
3 (J-1) cut points being estimated by the model. The estimated values produced by
for each of the cut points are 3.1, 4.7, and 6.5. Thus, students with an estimated y*
< 3.1 are categorized as not enrolling in college; students with an estimated y*
between 3.1 and 4.7 are categorized as enrolling in less selective colleges; those
between 4.7 and 6.5 are in selective colleges; those with a y* greater than 6.5 are in
the most selective colleges group. These cut points ( b τ ’s) are estimated but are
generally not of substantive interest and are therefore not often interpreted. However,
they can provide some valuable information. If the difference between the cut points
is about the same it suggests that the dependent variable is not ordinal but rather on
an interval scale. Recall that OLS assumes that the outcome is interval scale,
suggesting that using a linear regression may be appropriate.
The raw coefficients produced by the ordered regressions are, as is true for the
binary logit case, not intuitive but they can be transformed into odds ratios (if using
ordered logit) or predicted probabilities. In our example, the raw coefficient for the
Female variable is 0.0675 ( p < 0.10) which can be transformed into an odds ratio.

20
Marginal effects are useful here in comparing across models.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 337

The Stata output produces these raw coefficients by default, and they represent
cumulative odds of belonging to a category or higher versus belonging to the
lower categories.21 In our example the odd of females belonging to the no college
group vs. all the other categories (less/selective/most) are about 1.07 (exp0.0675
¼ 1.0698) times that of males. Equivalently, the odds of females belonging to the
no college/less selective groups vs. the selective/most selective groups are also about
1.07 times that of males. This demonstrates how the effect of being female on the
different contrasts does not vary, which will not be the case for the multinomial
models discussed later in the chapter (see Long & Freese, 2014, for a further
discussion of interpretation issues).
Although there are numerous outcomes that interest higher education researchers
that are ordinal in nature, ordinal regression analyses is less often used because many
times the parallel regression assumption tests fail. Scholars (Borooah, 2002; Long,
1997) also caution about the use of ordinal measures when categories can take on
multiple meanings and ordering. For example, if we are considering earning poten-
tial, we might order a category of institutional levels as no college, two-year college,
and four-year college. However, if we are considering time to earn a degree from
shortest to longest, we might reorder the institutional levels as two-year, four-year,
and no college, whereby those who are not yet enrolled in college are considered to
(theoretically) have the longest time to earn a degree. The main point here is that
different conceptualizations of the latent construct, and the context in which the
categorical ordering is being used, can lead to different conclusions (Long & Freese,
2014). When the parallel regression assumption fails or the ordering of categories is
not certain, researchers may want to consider the use of one of the multinomial
regression models available, discussed in the next section.

7.4 Nominal Outcomes

Some categorical outcomes are not rank ordered but are rather measured on a
nominal scale. In higher education research there are many nominal outcomes of
interest: choices among college majors (e.g., liberal arts, pre-professional, STEM,
other); reasons for selecting or leaving a college (e.g., availability of financial aid,
familial obligations, academic rigor); college-going outcomes (e.g., graduated, still
enrolled, transferred, no longer enrolled); or the types of jobs PhD students select
upon graduation (e.g., private industry, faculty, public service, non-research).
Regression-based models used to estimate multiple nominal outcomes are known
as multinomial models and these have been used to study many different issues in
higher education (e.g, Bahr, 2008; Belasco, 2013; Eagan et al., 2013; Porter &
Umbach, 2006; Wells, Lynch, & Seifert, 2011). To illustrate, Bahr used a multino-
mial probit model to examine the relationship between math course-taking and the

21
This is why this model is often called the “cumulative logit model.”
338 A. Rodriguez et al.

long-term degree outcomes of community college students, where the outcome

categories of interest were transfer with credential, transfer without credential,
degree with or without certificate, certificate only, or no credential). Researchers
also employ multinomial regression when they are uncertain about the ordinal nature
of their data or are not able to employ ordinal regression. In their study of the
representation of women at selective institutions, Bielby et al. (2014) estimated
multinomial logit models of college application behaviors by institutional selectiv-
ity—arguably ordinal and consistent with our analysis above—because the ordinal
model they initially estimated failed the parallel regression assumption test.
When analyzing multi-categorical outcomes, one might be tempted to run sepa-
rate binary regressions to estimate each pairwise contrast of the categories. For
example, we might examine enrollment by institutional selectivity by modeling
separate binary regressions for: no college enrollment versus less selective enroll-
ment; college enrollment at less selective versus selective colleges; and so forth.
However, this approach results in several regression results that have different
sample sizes, leading to a loss of efficiency of the estimates. Furthermore, this
approach is deficient because it does “enforce the logical relationship among the
parameters” for each of the categories (Long, 1997, p.151). In contrast, multinomial
regression simultaneously estimates all of the possible outcome category relation-
ships, and does so making full use of all the available data, thereby remedying the
problems noted above when employing binary regression to estimate multinomial
outcomes.
To demonstrate the utility of the more popular multinomial regression techniques
available, below we formally present these models, how they are identified, discuss
their underlying assumptions and model fit tests, and provide examples of how to
interpret the results. We do so using our running example of the study of college
enrollment (by institutional selectivity).
When estimating a multinomial environment, the probability of observing out-
come category m among J possible categories can be modeled as:

exp X 0 βmjb
Pr ðyi ¼ mjxÞ ¼ ð7:22Þ
P
J
1þ exp X 0 βjjb
j¼2

where b is the base outcome, x is a vector of covariates and βm j b is a corresponding

vector of coefficients relating outcome category m with respect to the base outcome.
The reader may notice that this equation is an extension of Eq. 7.3, which formally
describes the binary outcome model. One difference is that the denominator in
Eq. (7.22) is modified to accommodate more than two outcomes categories. Equa-
tion 7.4 (the binary logit representation) can also be modified to account for any
number of (J) outcome categories:
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 339

Pr ðy ¼ mjxÞ
ln ¼ X 0 βmjb for m ¼ 1 to J ð7:23Þ
Prðy ¼ bjxÞ
0
where b is the base outcome, X is a vector of covariates and βm j b is a corresponding
vector of coefficients relating outcome category m to the base or reference category.
In Eq. 7.23, known as the multinomial logit, we take the natural log of the relative
ðy¼mjxÞ
risk ratio, Pr
Pr ðy¼bjxÞ . As noted in section III above, the relative risk ratio is not to be
confused with the odds ratio – the ratio of two odds (Menard, 2010).22 Like the
binary logit model, the multinomial logit is linear in the parameters (the logits),
making the underlying statistical calculation easier to perform. Also of note, in
Eqs. 7.22 and 7.23 is the inclusion of a base or reference category. The parameters
are estimated using maximum likelihood. Multinomial logit regression output typ-
ically only includes estimates for J-1 of the outcome contrasts, with the base or
reference category estimates being omitted. Given that the pairwise comparisons of
the estimates for coefficients produced by the model will be relative to the reference
category, scholars are encouraged to carefully consider the choice of the base
category.

7.4.1 Assumptions

One of the assumptions underpinning the multinomial logit is the independence of

irrelevant alternatives assumption (IIA), whereby the odds of observing an outcome
do not depend on the other available alternatives.23 In words, this means that the
addition or elimination of outcome categories (i.e., alternatives) will not change the
odds of observing the outcome. For example, suppose students have three college
options available to them – let’s call them colleges A, B, and C—and the odds of a
student choosing between College A and B are evenly split. Under the IIA, the
presence (or elimination) of the third College C (the alternative) should have no
bearing on the students’ odds between the other two choices (A and B), essentially
making College C an “irrelevant alternative.” However, in practice, this assumption
will not make sense from a conceptual point of view. The elimination of College C
might mean that more students seek out College A, if for example it had very similar
program offerings as College C, thereby fundamentally changing the relative odds
between students choosing between Colleges A and B. The main argument being, if
there are enough similarities between the added alternative and one of the already
available options, then IIA will not hold. Empirically, there are formal tests—the

22
Researchers should be careful to distinguish between the risk ratio and odds ratio, as they are not
interchangeable terms. In particular, odds ratios and risk ratios are most dissimilar in the middle of a
distribution (Menard, 2010). Only when J ¼ 2 are the relative risk ratio and odds ratio equal. For a
clear explanation, see https://www.stata.com/statalist/archive/2005-04/msg00678.html
23
The IIA also applies to the conditional logit (not discussed here).
340 A. Rodriguez et al.

Hausman-McFadden and Small-Hsiao tests—available to test whether the IIA

assumption holds. However, these tests have been shown to be inconsistent in
identifying violations of the IIA that are related to the size and structure of the
data. Long and Freese (2014) question the relevance of these tests and argue that one
should select outcomes categories that appear to be theoretically distinct, in order to
argue that the multinomial categories are valid. When there is insufficient theoretical
guidance and/or strong empirical evidence that the IIA assumption is violated, one
can also employ multinomial probit regression, which does not rely on the IIA
assumption (e.g., Titus, 2007). As is often the case, there are tradeoffs to consider
when choosing to use the multinomial probit rather than the multinomial logit. The
former does not produce risk ratios, which may ease interpretation (Long & Freese,
2014). The multinomial probit is more computationally intensive, but advances in
computing power make differences in estimation time negligible for moderately
sized datasets (Greene, 2002; Long & Freese, 2014). However, as was the case for
logit and probit models, researchers can now easily produce predicted probabilities
and marginal effects for both the logit and probit multinomial models, and there are
many possibilities for displaying these results in graphical format.

7.4.2 Estimating College Enrollment by Institutional

Selectivity

We revisit estimating enrollment by institutional selectivity, which failed the parallel

regression assumption test for the ordinal regression analysis in the previous section.
As you may recall, we are interested in understanding the relationships between
college enrollment where the outcome categories are: no college, less selective,
selective, or most selective colleges. We regress this dependent variable on a number
of variables thought to explain this choice (e.g., student demographic characteristics;
academic achievement, etc.). Given there was no evidence that the outcome needed
to be estimated using ordinal regression we will now employ an alternative tech-
nique, multinomial logistic regression. Using enrollment at a less selective institu-
tion—where the majority of students enroll in college—as the base outcome, we
estimate the following multinomial logit model:

ln ΩNCjLS ¼ β0, NCjLS þ β1, NCjLS DEMS þ β2, NCjLS ACAD þ β3, NCjLS EXPECT þ β4, NCjLS SCH
ð7:24Þ

ln ΩSjLS ¼ β0, SjLS þ β1, SjLS DEMS þ β2, SjLS ACAD þ β3, SjLS EXPECT þ β4, SjLS SCH ð7:25Þ
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 341

ln ΩMSjLS ¼ β0, MSjLS þ β1, MSjLS DEMS þ β2, MSjLS ACAD þ β3, MSjLS EXPECT þ β4, MSjLS SCH
ð7:26Þ
ðy¼mjxÞ
where Ω ¼ Pr Pr ðy¼bjxÞ and the numerator is the probability of observing the m
th

outcome category [e.g., no college (NC), selective (S), or most selective (MS)
institution) relative to the probability of being in the base outcome (the denominator)
b, whether the student chose a less selective (LS) college. This ratio of two proba-
bilities (risk ratio) is, thus, a relative measure, leading to it being dubbed the relative
risk ratio.24 Included as regressors are DEMS, ACAD, EXPECT, SCH, vectors of
demographic, academic, college expectation, and school characteristics, respec-
tively, described in Table 7.1. As was true for the binary and ordinal regressions,
the β’s are parameters to be estimated. Recall that the ordinal regression model
produced only one set of parameter estimates for the regressors included, whereas
the multinomial model produces such estimates for each covariate for each of the
outcome categories.
Goodness of Fit and Combining Outcomes As with the binary logit or probit, we
can use Stata’s fitstat command to examine how well the model fits the data. This
command produces a number different measures of the model’s goodness of fit (see
help files for details). Additionally, the likelihood ratio and Wald tests can be
invoked to test the null hypothesis (H0) that all of the coefficients are
simultaneously equal to zero. These tests can be conducted using the mlogtest
post-estimation command and the wald and lr options, respectively.25 Relatedly, if
b are not significantly different across outcome categories, then
the coefficients (β’s)
there is evidence that these non-distinct categories can be combined, which would
improve the efficiency of the model and ease interpretation as there will not be as
many pairwise contrasts to explain. One way to test if any of the outcome categories
can be combined is by using the mlogtest command with the combine or lrcombine
options in Stata. The former option uses the Wald test, the latter a likelihood ratio
test. We employed these tests and found that, in our sample, the null hypothesis that
the any of the outcome categories could be combined was rejected, providing no
evidence for combining any of the four categories.
Interpretation Output from a multinomial logistic regression (MNL) can easily
overwhelm because there are J-1 panels of estimates presented as regression output
(as noted earlier, the base outcome results are not presented) and estimated coeffi-
cients for each of the regressors included. In our case, we have four panels of
regression output, one for each of the outcome categories. Although the output
produced by Stata (and other statistical packages) typically includes only the statis-
tics for the non-base outcome category, here we use Stata’s listcoef post-estimation

24
For an explanation of odds and risk ratios/relative risks see: http://www.theanalysisfactor.com/
the-difference-between-relative-risk-and-odds-ratios/
25
Only the Wald test works when using robust standard errors or survey commands, See Long and
Freese (2014) for a discussion of tradeoffs between the Wald and likelihood ratio tests.
342 A. Rodriguez et al.

command (discussed below) to present the statistics for each of the four outcome
categories (all pairwise comparisons; see Table 7.7). One should approach the
interpretation of multinomial regression results with a targeted analysis plan a priori
(e.g., focusing variables of interest), so that the interpretation of the results does not
overwhelm the reader. Below we briefly discuss three ways to examine and present
findings: relative risk ratios, marginal effects, and predicted probabilities.
Relative Risk Ratios As noted above, we have to select a base outcome in order to
fit the multinomial logit (remember in our example, the base outcome is less
selective institutions). However, researchers may have an interest in making con-
trasts to pairwise categories that do not include the base outcome. For example, we
may want to contrast selective and most selective institutions, which is not available
in the default output produced by Stata. Given the somewhat ordered nature of our
outcomes by increasing levels of selectivity (i.e., no college < less selective <
selective < most selective), examining contrasts of adjacent categories is one way to
interpret the results. Stata’s listcoef post-estimation command can help in presenting
the results by providing results about any pairwise contrasts the analyst might be
interested in examining. We used this option to produce such results, and Table 7.8
b for our covariates of interest:
displays the relative risk ratios (the exponentiated β’s)
gender, race, and student GPA, for each of the outcome categories. The results
provide evidence of the female advantage that was observed for the binary logit
results, but this relationship is more complex than initially thought. The differences
being that the gender differences are concentrated on the no college/less- selective
college margins. Relative to men, women had about a 19% higher risk (probability)
of enrolling in a less-selective college compared to not attending college (the base
category). But no statistically significant gender differences were evident for the less
selective to selective institution contrast, but between selective and most selective
institutions, women had a 13% lower risk of enrolling at the most selective institu-
tions, consistent with previous research (Posselt et al., 2012). These gender differ-
ences were masked when using a binary representation of the outcome of interest,
demonstrating the utility of using the multinomial representation of the dependent
variable and modeling approach that permits a more detailed examination of the
relationships among the outcome categories and explanatory variables.
To demonstrate the interpretation of a non-categorical regressor, we present the
results for AP credits. There is no evidence of a statistically significant relationship
of AP credits with enrollment in less selective colleges, relative to not enrolling in
any college. However, a one-credit increase in AP credits is associated, on average,
with an 18% increase in the relative risk (probability) of enrollment at a selective
institution, relative to a less selective institutions, and a 12% increase in the relative
risk of enrollment at a most selective institution, relative to selective institution.26

26
Note these are increases in probability, rather than odds.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 343

Table 7.8 Comparison of relative risk ratios by college selectivitya

No college-less Less selective- Selective-most
selective selective selective
Female 1.185*** 0.961 0.872~
Race
Native American 1.115 0.79 0.392*
Asian 0.844 0.989 1.428**
Black 1.257* 0.997 1.071
Latino 1.283*** 0.634*** 1.105
Multiracial 0.966 0.852 0.805
White – – –
Academic controls
GPA, 10th grade 1.407*** 1.750*** 1.801***
Math test score 0.998 1.009* 1.034***
Number of AP credits 0.964 1.181*** 1.123***
Other student-level x x x
controlsb
School-level controlc x x x
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: ***p < 0.001, **p < 0.01, *p < 0.05, ~p < 0.1; (a) sample includes all students with base
year, follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates (N ¼ 10,940); (b) other
student controls includes parental education, income, highest math taken, whether friends plan to go
to college; (c) school-level controls includes urbanicity, school type, and share of students enrolled
in 2-year and 4-year colleges

Marginal Effects In multinomial regression, marginal effects are one useful way to
check on the relationships between the outcome categories and the included
covariates. As noted above, marginal effects help researchers understand the average
change in probability associated with a change in the given covariates. One advan-
tage of using marginal effects is the ability to compare results across models. Using
marginal effects, the researcher can consider the different ways in which one might
contrast the outcomes—at adjacent margins (as we did in Table 7.8), against one
base outcome (the default), or some other configuration that makes most sense for
your analysis. Given the myriad of contrasts available to the researcher for J-1
outcomes and k covariates, a full table of output may not be an effective way of
ultimately presenting findings. Long & Freese, 2014 further caution that as marginal
effects are computed using partial derivatives, they are highly dependent on the
shape of the probability curve and on the levels of all variables in the model—
potentially leading to large changes in sign and magnitude, depending on the place
on the probability curve where relationships are being examined. Therefore,
researchers are encouraged to examine marginal effects along the various points
on the probability curve, similar to the presentation in Fig. 7.3. Many of the issues
we covered in the Binary Outcomes section related to marginal effects apply to
multinomial regression, and will not be discussed further in this section.
344 A. Rodriguez et al.

Fig. 7.13 Predicted probabilities of enrollment by college selectivity and 10th grade GPA (Source:
HSLS:2009)

Predicted Probabilities Predicted probabilities also allow researchers to evaluate

the relationship between covariates and outcomes at different points in the proba-
bility distribution in a readily understood metric. Predicted probabilities can be
presented in tables (typically useful for categorical variables); graphical plots (for
continuous variables); and for specific subgroups. In our specific example,
interpreting predicted probabilities across the range of high school GPA values
and for specific populations of interest, may help us better understand the relation-
ship between gender, GPA, and institutional selectivity. In Fig. 7.13, we plotted the
effect of GPA across the four enrollment outcome categories. Students with higher
GPAs are less likely to opt-out of college immediately after high school than
students with lower GPAs. Interestingly, the enrollment effects are relatively flat
across the range of GPAs for students who are likely to enroll in less selective
colleges. The probability of enrollment for students choosing the most selective
colleges is relatively flat for students with average and below high school GPAs (<¼
2.0), but then rises to about 20% for the students with GPA’s of 4.0.
Analysis of specific subgroups is also a useful approach for understanding the
results produced by such models. Expanding on our example of female college
enrollment from Table 7.4, for the multinomial model we find that the probability of
a low-income female student whose parents had not attended college have a prob-
ability of 0.54 of not attending any college, and less than a 1 percent chance of
attending a most selective institution (see Table 7.9). A middle-income woman
whose parents attended college but did not obtain a degree also had high probabil-
ities of either not going to college (0.47) or attending a less selective institution
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 345

Table 7.9 Probability of college enrollment for female students by select income and parental
education levels
No Less Most
college Selective Selective Selective
Low-income student whose parent(s) has no more 0.542 0.365 0.088 0.005
than high school degree
Middle-income student whose parent(s) enrolled in 0.472 0.328 0.182 0.017
but did not attain a college degree
High-income student whose parent(s) earned a col- 0.113 0.174 0.371 0.342
lege degree
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: Student-level controls include: gender, race, parental education, income, highest math taken,
whether friends plan to go to college; School-level controls includes urbanicity, school type, and
share of students enrolled in 2-year and 4-year colleges. Sample includes all students with base year,
follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates (N ¼ 10,940)

(0.33), and very low chances of choosing to attend a highly selective college (0.02).
In contrast, women from families who had high income and college-degreed parents
had relatively high probabilities of attending a selective (0.37) and most selective
college (0.34), net of academic, school, and other measures. These results suggest
that the observed female advantage is in many ways driven by the choice of
institution type as well as one’s family background.
The multinomial regression models allow for the estimation of unordered cate-
gorical outcomes by relaxing some of the assumptions imposed when employing
ordinal regression. While multinomial logit is commonly used to model nominal
dependent variables, when there are conceptual grounds and/or empirical evidence
that the IIA assumption is violated the multinomial probit is an alternative. Regard-
less of the link function that is chosen (logit or probit), the amount of output
produced by multinomial regression models is oftentimes described as “overwhelm-
ing” (Long & Freese, 2014, p. 411). Hosmer et al. (2013) note that although the
complexity of the multinomial model produces considerable output to interpret
(especially when there are numerous outcome categories), the researcher has multi-
ple estimates for each covariate, thereby providing “a complete description of the
process being studied” (p.289). To ease the interpretation burden, in the section
above we presented a number of different approaches to present the findings in a
digestible way.

7.5 Limited Dependent Variable Models

So far, we have focused our attention on categorical dependent variables, whether

they have two (binary), ordered (ordinal), or multiple (nominal) categories. We now
turn our attention to limited dependent variables that may seem at first glance to
resemble continuous measures but “whose range of values is substantially restricted”
(Wooldridge, 2008, p. 529). These outcome variables may be restricted to integer
346 A. Rodriguez et al.

values, as in the case of count variables; they may be restricted to observing values
only over specific ranges, such as proportions that lie between zero and one; or these
variables may be censored or truncated in various ways, either by definition (e.g.,
variables that cannot take on negative values) or because of data generating pro-
cesses (e.g., top-coded variables used in surveys, sample selection). In the next
section we begin the discussion of these limited dependent variables by illustrating
Poisson and negative binomial regression techniques for count variables. We then
discuss analytical approaches for other forms of limited dependent variables, such as
fractional logistic, Tobit, and double-hurdle regression models.

7.5.1 Count Outcomes

We begin our discussion of limited dependent variable models by discussing count

outcomes. Count outcomes are those that enumerate the number of occurrences of
particular events, and such outcome variables abound in higher education. Scott-
Clayton (2011), for example, used a count of total semesters enrolled over 4 years as
an outcome in her evaluation of West Virginia’s PROMISE scholarship program.
Researchers may also be interested in the number of courses students take, as
enrollment intensity is associated with several educational outcomes such as time
to degree and persistence (Stratton, O’Toole, & Wetzel, 2007). As demonstrated by
Goldrick-Rab (2006), students’ transfer behavior is also of substantive interest, as
the frequency and timing of transfers vary across a number of student and institu-
tional characteristics, with important consequences for completion and time to
degree. In many cases, researchers study count outcomes using OLS regression
techniques (e.g., Scott-Clayton, 2011). It is also possible to create discrete categories
of count outcomes instead of using the count as the dependent variable. For example,
Goldrick-Rab’s (2006) research on “swirling” students defined multinomial outcome
(e.g., did not transfer; stopped out and returned; transferred without interruption)
from the underlying frequency and direction of student transfers. Such transforma-
tions may be appropriate for some research questions, but in other contexts may
result in loss of information that is of conceptual or empirical importance.
In cases where outcomes are measured as counts of events directly, the use of
OLS regression “for count outcomes can result in inefficient, inconsistent, and
biased outcomes” (Long, 1997, p. 217). Count outcomes take only integer values,
may have a relatively high preponderance of zeros, and may take on many small
values – suggesting that alternative regression techniques that account for these
characteristics may improve on OLS estimates (Greene, 2002). In this section, we
use students’ college applications to introduce count regression models. Today’s
high school graduate is more likely than ever to apply to multiple postsecondary
institutions (Pryor, Hurtado, Saenz, Santos, & Korn, 2007). The increase in college
applications submitted by students is the result of numerous co-occurring trends:
increased competition in college admissions (Bastedo & Jaquette, 2011; Eagan,
Lozano, Hurtado, & Case, 2013); simplification of the college application process
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 347

Fig. 7.14 Histogram of number of college applications (Notes: Histogram includes nonmissing
values of S3CLGAPPNUM, winsorized at 30. Source: HSLS:09)

(Pryor et al., 2007); and proactive marketing and outreach by colleges and univer-
sities (McDonough, 1994). Applying to college is an important step in the college
choice process, as the application set defines and constrains the choices eventually
available to students and reflects students’ preferences, constraints, and the appeal of
institutions to individuals. The number of applications students submit to college
display many of the properties that count regression techniques are intended to
address. In our sample, we observe a nontrivial number (density) of students who
apply to zero colleges; the modal number of applications is one; and the mean
number of applications is quite low (2.7). As shown in Fig. 7.14, the distribution is
skewed to the right indicating some students apply to many institutions (the maxi-
mum is 30).
An extensive literature addresses students’ college application behavior, ranging
from research into applications to single institutions (e.g., Gonzales & DesJardins,
2002); research into “undermatch” (e.g., Smit et al., 2013); and studies of the
characteristics of students’ college application sets (e.g., Arcidiacono, 2005;
Blume, 2016; Niu & Tienda, 2008). A few authors have studied the number of
applications students submit as an outcome. Hurtado, Inkelas, Briggs, and Rhee
(1997) used standard OLS regression to explore differences in the number (count) of
college applications across students’ race and ethnicity, finding significant dispar-
ities particularly for traditionally underserved student populations. Howell (2010),
Pallais (2015), and Smith, (2014) analyzed how various changes to application or
admissions policies affected the number of applications students submit. Howell
(2010) used ordinal probit regression, with the outcome specified as zero, one, two to
348 A. Rodriguez et al.

four, or more than four applications, to investigate the effect of affirmative action on
college applications and enrollment. Pallais (2015) estimated a difference-in-differ-
ence model using OLS to identify the effect of changes to the cost of ACT score
sending on the number of applications that students submitted to colleges. Finally,
Smith (2014) investigated how expansion of the Common Application influenced
the number of colleges to which students applied, also using OLS.
To our knowledge, no paper has made use of regression techniques specifically
designed for count data to study the number of college applications students submit.
There are a number of regression-based methods that can be used to study outcomes
that are counts, such as when studying college application submissions, and herein
we explore how to do so. The prevalent count regression techniques include Poisson
and negative binomial regression, as well as the zero-inflated variants of each.
Choosing among these four options depends on two characteristics of the outcome
variable:
1. The dispersion of the outcome (its conditional mean relative to the conditional
variance).
2. The nature of zero counts in the data: whether they are “excessive” and whether
they are the product of mechanisms distinct from those governing positive count
values.

7.5.2 Regression Techniques for Counts

To begin this discussion, we employ Poisson regression as the starting point in

modeling count outcomes. If we are interested in a variable y that measures the
number of applications students submit, Poisson regression treats the count of y as
though it is drawn from a Poisson distribution with parameter μ (Long, 1997). This
distribution can be related to covariates of interest through a log-linear model
(Greene, 2002). The log transformation ensures that the regression model cannot
result in negative values (Atkins & Gallop, 2007). Thus, we can think of the outcome
as measuring the probability of student i applying to y colleges as:

  eμi μyi i
Pr Y i ¼ yi jX 0i ¼ ð7:27Þ
yi !

Using the log-linear model, we can associate the (natural log of the) μ parameter to
0
our explanatory variables of interest (X ) as:

ln ðμi Þ ¼ X 0i β ð7:28Þ
0
where X is a vector of relevant student characteristics such as collegiate expecta-
tions, demographics, and academic achievement. This model can also be used to
estimate the expected (average) count or number of applications each student
submitted using:
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 349

  0
E yi jX 0i ¼ eX i β ð7:29Þ

The model is estimated by maximum likelihood.

The Poisson distribution has a few properties that may be of interest to researchers.
Its shape is largely governed by the mean rate – as the mean count approaches zero, the
distribution grows more right-skewed and at a sufficiently high mean count, the
distribution approaches normality. In addition, as the mean increases, we would expect
to observe fewer counts equaling zero (Atkins & Gallop, 2007; Cameron & Trivetti,
1998; Long, 1997). One of its most limiting characteristics is that the Poisson
distribution assumes equidispersion: the variance and mean of y are assumed to be
equal. In other words, the variance of y is equal to mean value, shown in Eq. 7.29
above. However, count data are frequently overdispersed, with (conditional) variance
exceeding the (conditional) mean. Descriptively, we observe strong suggestive evi-
dence of overdispersion in college application counts. The histogram of the distribu-
tion of application counts in Fig. 7.14 indicates that these counts are right-skewed,
with an unconditional mean of 2.7 that is exceeded by its unconditional variance of
7.6. Table 7.10 also provides evidence that the conditional (on the variables shown)
variance exceeds the conditional mean for some important variables used as regressors
to explain counts in college applications (more on this below).
In the presence of overdispersion, Poisson regression yields consistent but inef-
ficient estimates, and can understate standard errors (Long, 1997). There are several
formal tests for overdispersion following estimation of a Poisson regression (Cam-
eron & Trivetti, 1998; Greene, 2002). In Stata, we can calculate a goodness of fit
Chi-squared statistic with the gof command – a large Chi-squared value indicates a
poor fit that may be the result of overdispersion. When there is evidence of
overdispersion, negative binomial regression is often employed. The negative bino-
mial regression combines the Poisson distribution for the mean of the outcome
variable with a gamma-distributed parameter that adjusts its variance, with the result
that (conditional) variance exceeds the (conditional mean), thereby accounting for
the overdispersion (Long, 1997). If we treat r as the shape parameter of the gamma
function, the following describes the mean (the same as Eq. 7.29):
0
EðYjX 0 Þ ¼ eX β ð7:30Þ

Whereas the variance for negative binomial is:

1
var ðYjX 0 Þ ¼ μ þ μ2 ð7:31Þ
r
which means that the variance is larger relative to the mean for small values of r;
with the negative binomial distribution converging to Poisson as r approaches
infinity (Cameron & Trivedi, 1998). There are several formal tests for
overdispersion, many of which are built into statistical software. Stata’s nbreg
command for negative binomial regression estimates an overdispersion parameter
termed alpha, which is defined as α ¼ r – in other words, the inverse of 1=r in Eq. 7.31.
350 A. Rodriguez et al.

Table 7.10 Mean and variance for college applications by student characteristics
Number of applications
Variable Mean Variance
Race
Native Americans 2.3 6.2
Asian/Pacific islanders 4.0 12.2
Black 2.9 8.9
Hispanic 2.4 6.9
Multiracial 2.5 7.0
White 2.5 6.7
Gender
Male 2.4 6.9
Female 2.9 8.3
Source: HSLS: 2009
Notes: Summary statistics for S3CLGAPPNUM variable

An α parameter that is statistically different from zero indicates overdispersion. The

nbreg command performs a likelihood ratio test of the significance of α by compar-
ing a model that constrains α to equal zero and a model where α is empirically
estimated.
A final consideration when studying counts in a regression framework is how to
treat values of zero. In our college application example, it is possible for students to
report (in a survey) that they did not apply to any college. About 14% of respondents
in the HSLS sample report applying to zero colleges, a non-trivial number of
non-applicants. There are two general approaches to modeling count outcomes
with zero counts. One could treat zero counts as any other positive integer, thereby
not differentiating them from other values. Alternatively, if the proportion of zeros
relative to positive counts is sufficiently large, or if the occurrence of a zero count is
of substantive interest as its own phenomenon, one could employ the zero-inflated
variants of count models. Zero-inflated Poisson or zero-inflated negative binomial
regressions are similar in spirit to other mixture or two-part models, which we
discuss in greater detail later in this chapter. Two-part models allow for the zero
counts to be estimated separately from the rest of the distribution, with each model
having its own set of covariates. In the case of college applications, such a model
would allow us to model the decision not to apply to college at all as its own
outcome. For zero-inflated count regressions, we first fit a logistic model of the
probability of observing a count equal to zero, and then fit a Poisson or negative
binomial regression on the positive integers (Greene, 2002).27 In other words, we
would model zero counts that occur with probability π using logistic regression, and
would model positive integer counts that occur with probability 1-π using Poisson or
negative binomial regression, as outlined in Eq. 7.32:

27
If overdispersion is the result of excess zeros, a zero-inflated Poisson model may be preferable
over negative binomial regression (Long, 1997).
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 351

 
  π i þ ð1  π i Þ∗g Y i ¼ 0jX 0i if yi ¼ 0
Pr Y i ¼ yi jX 0i e ð7:32Þ
ð1  π i Þ∗g Y i jX 0i if yi > 0

Using a zero-inflated model, we would model π i ¼ 0 with logistic regression – in the

example we use below, this would mean  estimating
 the probability of (not) applying
to college. We would then model g yi jX 0i with Poisson or negative binomial
regression for positive integer values of yi (i.e., conditional on applying to college
at all). This approach may be valuable in instances where the underlying mecha-
nisms governing zero and positive counts differ. For example, a study of drinking
behavior on college campuses may include in its sample subgroups of students who
are not at risk for drinking at all (say, for example, due to religion). Stata’s zip and
zinb commands estimate these models.

7.5.3 Applying Count Regression to College Applications

We can model the count of applications submitted by student i as a function of

students’ and families’ characteristics, measured academic achievement, extracur-
ricular involvement, postsecondary intentions, and characteristics of their high
school:
 
Pr Y i ¼ yi jX 0i ¼ β0 þ β1 racei þ β2 gender i þ β3 familyi þ β4 acad i
þ β5 extrai þ β6 pse plansi þ β7 HS context i þ εi ð7:33Þ

We estimate Poisson and negative binomial models of Eq. 7.33.28 Recall that the
distribution of college application counts suggested possible overdispersion. We
observe that the α parameter for overdispersion is statistically significant (χ 2
¼2053.3, p < 0.001) in the negative binomial regression. We also find that the
Chi-square measure of goodness of fit for the Poisson regression is also highly
significant (χ 2¼15,203.4, p < 0.001), again suggesting the presence of
overdispersion. As discussed above, overdispersion results in underestimated stan-
dard errors for Poisson regression. We observe that in the results included in
Table 7.11, that this is indeed the case – the coefficients of both models are quite
similar, but the standard errors of the negative binomial model are larger than for the
Poisson regression because they are inflated by the overdispersion parameter. We
can also look to the AIC and BIC statistics of the two models to further assess fit. All
three statistics suggest that the negative binomial is preferable to the Poisson. Yet
another way to compare these models is to test how well they fit the underlying
distribution
 of college applications. In Figure 7.15, we plot the residuals of
Pr Y i ¼ yi jX 0i for the Poisson and negative binomial regressions at each value of

28
Recall that if we were concerned about the 14% of students that do not apply to college (and thus
have a count of zero), or if we wanted to understand the decision not to apply to college separately,
we could estimate a zero-inflated count model.
352 A. Rodriguez et al.

Table 7.11 Comparison of estimates for count models

Poisson Neg Bin Poisson IRR Neg Bin IRR AMEs (Neg Bin)
Gender (ref. male)
Female 0.115*** 0.116*** 1.121*** 1.123*** 0.327
(0.013) (0.017) (0.014) (0.019)
GPA, 10th grade 0.285*** 0.297*** 1.330*** 1.345*** 0.842
(0.011) (0.014) (0.015) (0.018)
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: ***p < 0.001, **p < 0.01, *p < 0.05, ~p < 0.1. Models include additional controls for race,
parental education, family income, AP/IB credits, extracurricular activities, hours worked, and high
school characteristics. Standard errors in parenthesis. Sample includes all students with base year,
follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates (N ¼ 9740)

Fig. 7.15 Comparison of residuals for poisson and negative binomial regressions of count of
college applications (Notes: Positive residuals indicate underpredictions. Source: HSLS:2009)

yi. In other words, the residuals show the degree to which the models under- or
overpredict the probability of each count value. The graph indicates that the negative
binomial model does a slightly better job of fitting the observed distribution of
applications.29
We have addressed goodness of fit and, given evidence of overdispersion, have
chosen negative binomial as our preferred modeling approach. Turning to the
coefficients, as with other nonlinear regression techniques, interpreting regression

29
This may seem like a large number of goodness of fit tests to run, but in Stata the user-written
command countfit provides all of these results simultaneously.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 353

results can be tricky. The coefficients of a negative binomial regression are linear and
additive with respect to the logged values of the expected count, as seen in Eqs. 7.28
and 7.29 - which are not easily interpretable. Table 7.11 reports coefficients for a few
select explanatory variables. An increase of 0.1 in 10th grade GPA, for example, is
associated with a 0.029 increase in the expected number of applications (0.1
multiplied by the coefficient of 0.297). Similarly, the coefficient for female implies
that female students have an expected number of college applications that is about
11% higher than for male students. Exponentiating these coefficients yields inci-
dence rate ratios (IRR), which may be more readily interpretable, and arereported  in
Table 7.11. These IRRs represent factor changes in the expected count E yi jX 0i , and
so can be interpreted as multiplicative like an odds ratio. That is, a one-unit increase
in a covariate is associated with an increase of eβ in the expected outcome, all else
held constant (Long, 1997). Keeping with the same two variables as examples, a
one-unit (or one point) increase in high school GPA increases the expected number
of applications by a factor of 1.35 – a 35% increase. Similarly, female students have
1.12 times the expected number of college application of male students, or 12%
higher applications.
An alternative to IRR is to compute marginal effects. As we discussed in section
about binary outcomes, marginal effects provide a useful way to summarize associ-
ations at mean, observed, or representative values of interest. They also help us
translate coefficients from percent or factor changes in the expected number of
applications to a more intuitive unit of measure; i.e., the actual count of applications.
The marginal effect for high school GPA tells us that a one-point increase in GPA is
associated with 0.84 additional college applications, while being female is associated
with 0.33 additional applications.
Marginal effects also help us make sense of interaction terms. To demonstrate
this, we estimate an additional model that includes an interaction of gender and high
school GPA (as reported in Table 7.12). The interaction term in this model allows for
the relationship between high school GPA and college applications to vary by
gender. When we add this interaction to the previously estimated model, we find a
larger main effect of gender (1.32 vs. 1.12) than before, though we must also
consider the interaction effect. Interestingly, the interaction effect of GPA and
gender is negative (or, in IRR terms, less than 1). This suggests that as GPA
increases, the difference in the number of applications submitted by men and
women declines.
To ease the interpretation of main and interaction effects, we graph (see Fig-
ure 7.16) the relationship between high school GPA and the number of college
applications separately by gender. The graph indicates a slow convergence of the
two groups, especially at higher values of GPA.
There are numerous variables in higher education that enumerate phenomena of
interest. Researchers always have the option to take such outcomes and transform
them into dichotomous or categorical measures, or to treat them as continuous.
However, count regression techniques are simple and have desirable robustness
354 A. Rodriguez et al.

Table 7.12 Interaction terms in count regression for college applications

Negative binomial (IRR)
Gender (ref. male)
Female 1.320***
(0.099)
GPA, 10th grade 1.381***
(0.025)
GPA, 10th grade*female 0.949*
(0.022)
Source: HSLS:2009
Notes: ***p < 0.001, **p < 0.01, *p < 0.05, ~p < 0.1. Models include additional controls for race,
parental education, family income, AP/IB credits, extracurricular activities, hours worked, and high
school characteristics. Standard errors in parenthesis. Sample includes all students with base year,
follow-up, and transcript data that are not missing data on covariates (N ¼ 9740)

Fig. 7.16 Predicted count of college applications by gender and GPA (Notes: Shaded region
indicates 95% confidence interval. Model includes controls for student characteristics; measured
academic achievement; extracurricular involvement; postsecondary intentions; high school charac-
teristics; and an interaction of gender and academic achievement. Source: HSLS:2009)

properties (Wooldridge, 2008) that enable us to study these variables with few
compromises.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 355

7.5.4 Proportional/Fractional Outcomes

Researchers in higher education frequently encounter outcomes of interest that are

measured at the institutional level. Such data are widely available from sources such
as IPEDS, and capture several measures relevant to scholars, prospective students,
and regulatory agencies. These variables include the composition of the student body
(e.g., proportion from underrepresented groups, percentage of students that are Pell-
eligible) and institutional outcomes such as persistence, graduation, or student loan
default rates. All such variables are proportions or fractions, with a range from zero
to one.
With few exceptions, much of the research using proportions or rates as outcomes
uses ordinary least squares regression. For example, scholars studying stratification
of enrollments in higher education often attempt to explain such stratification across
race and income, noting that there is a dearth of low-income or marginalized students
at the nation’s most prestigious universities (Bastedo & Gumport, 2003; Carnevale
& Strohl, 2013). They often do so by employing OLS regression to examine
outcome variables that are proportions. Belasco, Rosinger, and Hearn (2015) used
linear regression to study the effect of test-optional admissions on the share of Black
and Hispanic enrollments. Hillman, 2013 used much the same approach to study
changes in the proportion of Pell students at institutions adopting no-loan financial
aid policies. Institutional student loan default rates are another widely studied topic,
with recent studies by Hillman, 2014, Ishitani & McKitrick, 2016, and Kelchen &
Li, 2017 about individual and institutional characteristics associated with default.
In each of these studies, OLS regression provided readily interpretable coeffi-
cients and insights into policies or institutional characteristics of interest. Earlier, we
highlighted the ways in which OLS regression with binary outcomes (LPM) may
violate assumptions necessary for efficient, unbiased estimates. As was the case with
linear probability models, “the drawbacks of linear models for fractional data are
analogous to the drawbacks of the linear probability model for binary data” (Papke &
Wooldridge, 1996, p. 620). Proportions or rates are bounded by zero and one,
whereas fitted values from OLS regressions are not. Second, the relationship of
any independent variable to a fractional outcome cannot be linear through the full
range of outcome values (Papke & Wooldridge, 1996). Finally, the residuals from
OLS regression of fractional outcomes are likely heteroskedastic, with greater
variation at middle values and smaller variation near the lower and upper bounds
(Cribari-Neto & Zeileis, 2010). As such, researchers should approach linear regres-
sion of fractional dependent variables with caution.
To be sure, under many conditions OLS regression may prove to be a reasonable
enough approximation of a fractional outcome. For example, when the proportional
outcome is largely distributed within the linear portion of the logistic curve, the
estimates produced using a linear specification may be a reasonable approximation
(Cribari-Neto & Zeileis, 2010). Institutional graduation rates are a good candidate
for such an approach because graduation rates in many colleges and universities are
near the middle of the distribution (the average being about 60%). However, other
356 A. Rodriguez et al.

outcomes may not lend themselves well to OLS regression. At selective institutions,
for example, we know that the fraction of enrolled students receiving Pell grants is
quite low, with many such colleges having fewer than 20% of students as Pell
recipients (Carnevale & Van der Werf, 2017). Similarly, though there is much
justified media and scholarly attention paid to student loan default, institutional
student default rates averaged 11.3% for the 2013 cohort (Federal Student Aid,
2016). In these instances, researchers may be well served by exploring alternatives to
OLS regression, just as we have done with binary dependent variables. We discuss
some approaches below.

7.5.5 Alternatives to OLS for Fractional Outcomes

There are several alternatives to linear regression for the modeling of proportions.
One common approach is to use a transformation of the dependent variable, such as a
log transformation in Eq. 7.34 (Baum, 2008; Papke & Wooldridge, 1996). If p is the
measure of the relevant fractional outcome; by log transforming the fraction the
model becomes linear in the parameters, similar to what we saw in our discussion of
logistic regression:
   
p
E ln jx ¼ X 0 β ð7:34Þ
p1

One example of using such a transformation is Scott, Bailey, and Kienzl (2006),
who studied the relationship between graduation rates and the characteristics of
institutions and their student bodies. However, this transformation has an important
limitation: it excludes fractions at the endpoints of the [0,1] interval, as the term
p
ln p1 is undefined for p equal to either zero or one. This transformation is also
of limited interpretability: the coefficients of the regression measure changes in the
log-transformed outcome, not in the actual fractional outcome of interest. Finally,
this transformation does not address the heteroskedastic nature of rate or proportion
data (Ferrari & Cribari-Neto, 2004).
One alternative is to use beta regression, which improves on the log transforma-
tion in two ways. First, beta regression can accommodate outcome variables in the
(0,1) interval that are left- or right-skewed, or that are flatly distributed over the full
range. This is because beta regression treats the dependent variable as following a
beta distribution, which is highly flexible, with the beta density taking a variety of
shapes. This also means that beta regression can accommodate the heteroskedacity
inherent to fractional outcomes. Second, the coefficients of a beta regression are
directly interpretable as changes to the mean expected value of the outcome. Thus,
they require no additional effort for calculation of marginal effects or use of graphs.
However, beta regression does share one important limitation with log
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 357

transformation, which is that it is only defined for fractions in the (0,1) interval –
dependent variables equaling precisely zero or one are excluded (Ferrari & Cribari-
Neto, 2004).
In cases where proportions at the extreme values of 0 or 1 exist and researchers
want to retain such observations, neither a log-transformation nor a beta regression
may be appropriate. Fractions at either extreme may seem rare or unlikely to be
observed – this is certainly the case for metrics like graduation rates, for example.
However, these values do occur for measures that tend to be concentrated at the tails
of the distribution or among select subsamples of postsecondary institutions (e.g.,
retention rates at highly selective institutions, which are extremely high and could
reach 100%; the proportion of low-income students at small colleges with high net
prices, which are very low and may be 0%). The zero-inflated (and one-inflated)
variants of beta regression can retain such observations. Similar to our discussion of
zero-inflated count models, these variations on beta regressions are mixture models.
These models first estimate the probability of observing a fraction equal to zero or
one using logistic regression, and then estimate a beta regression model for outcomes
within the (0,1) range (Ospina & Ferrari, 2012). One advantage of this approach is
that it allows us to specify different covariates for each of the models estimated,
which may be particularly valuable for researchers that posit different underlying
mechanisms for observations at the extremes of [0,1].
Yet another alternative is the use of fractional response models, as outlined in
Papke and Wooldridge (1996). Fractional response models allow for modeling
proportions in the [0,1] interval, using a generalized linear model with a link
function:

E ðyjxÞ ¼ GðX 0 βÞ ð7:35Þ

Where G(∙) is a link function, typically the logistic or standard normal (probit)
cumulative density functions, and 0  y  1. The model is estimated using quasi-
maximum likelihood (which does not require knowledge of the full distribution of
outcomes), with the link function indicating the distribution of mean values for the
outcome variable.30 The coefficients from a fractional logistic regression are not
easily interpreted; their sign indicates the direction of marginal effects but otherwise
convey little readily usable information. As with probit or logit models, marginal
effects, graphical representations of the relationships between covariates and the
outcome of interest, and predicted values provide a more easily interpretable way to
communicate results (see Furquim & Glasener, 2016 for an application of fractional
logistic regression to the proportion of Pell eligible students at highly selective
institutions).
Though these alternative approaches to modeling proportions require transfor-
mations of the dependent variable or the use of link functions, statistical software
such as R, SAS, or Stata can estimate any of them using their respective GLM

30
One could also use heteroskedastic probit to model the variance rather than the mean of a
proportional outcome.
358 A. Rodriguez et al.

regression commands. Stata version 14 and higher also includes specific commands
for beta regression (betareg) and for fractional response models (fracreg). These
regression techniques are readily available to researchers, and may be of use to
higher education scholars studying the fractional or proportional outcomes so
commonly of interest to policymakers and prospective students.

7.5.6 Censoring and Truncation

Many of the dependent variables of interest to higher education scholars can be

censored or truncated in ways that warrant special consideration. For example,
researchers interested into students’ decision to work while in school run into a
censoring issue, as students cannot work fewer than zero hours. The same form of
censoring affects studies of student indebtedness – students cannot borrow amounts
below $0. In many instances, this censoring is overlooked and researchers rely on
OLS regression. For example, Addo, Houle, and Simon (2016) studied the relation-
ship between parental wealth and student debt using OLS regression, and excluded
nonborrowers from their analyses. If we are interested in the censored observations
(non-borrowers), however, OLS estimates of censored variables can be inconsistent,
as OLS fails to “account for the qualitative difference between limit (zero) observa-
tions and nonlimit (continuous) observations (Greene, 2002, p. 762).
Tobit regression provides a workaround for censored variables. As in our discus-
sion of categorical outcomes, Tobit regression is also a latent variable technique. In
the case of student loans, we can think of Tobit regression as modeling a latent
demand for student loans of the form:

y∗ ¼ X 0 β þ ε ð7:36Þ

And


0 if y∗  0
y¼ ð7:37Þ
y∗ ∗
i if y > 0

Where y∗ is a latent construct capturing the true demand for loans; the observed
outcome y is the measure of student loans that is censored at zero for negative values
of y∗.31 Taken together, Eqs. 7.1 and 7.2 tell us that in a Tobit regression a change to
0
any element of X affects both the probability of yi being greater than zero (in our
case, of taking on student loans) as well as the conditional mean of y∗ for y∗ > 0
(Greene, 2002; Long, 1997). See Hart and Mustafa (2008) for an application of Tobit
regression to study the effect of increased access to subsidized loans on student debt.

31
Tobit models also work for censoring from above, such as when data from surveys top-code
variables like income for privacy reasons.
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 359

0
One limiting assumption of Tobit regression, however, is that X β is assumed to
equally affect both the likelihood of borrowing and the mean amount borrowed (Lin
& Schmidt, 1984). This may not be a desirable or sensible assumption in some cases.
If individuals face a participating decision, such as a decision of whether to borrow at
all, the double-hurdle model introduced by Cragg (1971) may be preferable. The
double-hurdle model allows for the specification of a decision to participate (borrow,
in our example) and then separately to model the amount borrowed. These two
regressions can take different functional forms and include distinct covariates,
allowing researchers to better consider the mechanisms underlying the two distinct
decisions of whether to borrow and then how much to borrow (e.g., Cha & Weagley,
2002; Cha, Weagley, & Reynolds, 2005; Furquim, Glasener, Oster, McCall, &
DesJardins, 2017). Double-hurdle regression is of the form:
Decision equation:
 
PrðParticipate ¼ 1jX 0 Þ ¼ Φ X 01 β1 ð7:38Þ

Equation 7.38 is estimated via probit regression with a normally distributed error
term. Then, the level equation is:
8
< y∗ ¼ X 02 β2
y ¼ y∗ if Participate ¼ 1 ð7:39Þ
:
∅if Participate ¼ 0

Equation 7.39 is estimated using truncated regression, because observations where

Participate ¼ 0 are excluded. The unknown parameters to be estimated, β2, can
differ from those in the decision equation (β1), as can the included covariates.
One can then analyze several outcomes: the probability of participation (Pr(Partic-
ipate)); the conditional expected outcome (y∗); and the unconditional mean outcome
(y∗ ∗ Pr (Participate)).
Truncated regression can more generally be used to deal with truncation of data.
Truncation occurs when the data generating process excludes “observations based
on the characteristics of the dependent variable” (Long, 1997, p. 187). So while in
the case of censored data we observe censored values of the dependent variable for
some observations, truncated data reduces the analytic sample based on the depen-
dent variable. Truncation may be a byproduct of sample selection (e.g., a study of
family income for Pell eligible students) or other analytical choices. For example, in
their study of student debt, Addo et al., (2016) excluded non-borrowers, thus
truncating the dependent variable at some value greater than zero. The result of
truncation is that the mean of the dependent variable is higher (in case of truncation
from below) or lower (for truncation from above) than the “true” mean, and the
variance of the truncated variable is smaller than that of the untruncated. Ordinary
least squares regression can yield biased coefficients in the presence of truncation
(Long, 1997). In these cases, researchers can use truncated regression, which is
easily estimated in most statistical software (in Stata, the truncreg command).
Truncated regression yields coefficients that can be directly interpreted as partial
360 A. Rodriguez et al.

changes to yi that is truncated at some value τ, just as in OLS regression, as seen in

Eq. 7.40 (Long, 1997):

yi ¼ X 0i β þ εi for all i such that yi > τ ð7:40Þ

Truncation that results from sample selection can also be addressed by sample
selection corrections, such as Heckman type sample selection correction, that use
probit regression to model the likelihood of being in sample and incorporate the
inverse Mills ratio into estimates of the observed data (Wooldridge, 2008). Instru-
mental variable techniques may also be brought to bear in such cases (see Bielby,
House, Flaster, & DesJardins, 2013, for an overview of instrumental variable
techniques applied to higher education).

7.6 Conclusion

Linear regression models have long been an essential part of an education

researcher’s statistical toolkit. Although the statistical foundations underlying the
use of categorical dependent variable regression models have been around for many
decades (see Cramer, 2003, for a history of the logit model, and Dey & Astin, 1993
for early work comparing and contrasting these models in higher education), they
really became an important addition to the statistical tools used by higher education
researchers in the middle to late 1980s. This is probably a result of many converging
trends, such as the availability of these techniques in then available statistical
software packages; the teaching of these methods in programs training education
researchers; discussion of the use of the methods in higher education publications,
including this Handbook (Austin, Yaffee, & Hinkle, 1992; Cabrera, 1994); and the
increase of publications using these techniques in main higher education journals
(Peng, So, Stage, & St. John, 2002). Given the ubiquity of these methods in higher
education these days, having a solid understanding of their foundational statistical
concepts and of their application is essential for conducting research into many
important issues facing postsecondary education. More recently, limited dependent
variable regression models, which have been employed successfully in other disci-
plines, are also increasingly being utilized in higher education research.
As demonstrated herein, these categorical and limited dependent variable models
often remedy some of the statistical problems that arise when using traditional
regression methods, such as linear regression, to study binary, multi-categorical,
and limited outcome variables. But the application of these non-linear methods often
come with a price, including complex estimation routines that are computer-memory
intensive, and, importantly, additional complexities in the interpretation of results
produced by such techniques. The former problem is of less concern with the advent
of computers with multiple processors and high-capacity memory, lowering the time
and memory resources needed to estimate such models. But interpreting the results
of non-linear regression models remains a vexing problem for some, one that can be
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 361

resolved by employing a variety of measures and using the graphical displays now
available in many statistical software packages.
Our intention in producing this chapter was to update the published resources
already available, to provide details about recent advances in the models used to
study categorical and limited dependent variables, and to provide our colleagues
with examples of how to use alternative ways to present and discuss the results
produced by these regression methods. Our intention was not to provide a compre-
hensive treatment of the literature about these methods; to that end, we provide
references to additional articles and books that can assist researchers in learning
more about the underlying concepts and application of these methods.
To facilitate the educative goal of the chapter, we provided a running example of
an important higher education issue that many readers should be familiar with:
research on student college choice. Although the results produced by the applica-
tions of the various modeling techniques may inform the literature on college student
choice, this empirical application was really designed for expository purposes. We
used college choice as the exemplar because many treatments explaining non-linear
models use examples that are not familiar to those in our field, such as applying the
methods to medical research (for example, the work of Hosmer and colleagues).
We hope our efforts provide researchers with additional information about the
application of the categorical methods described herein. In addition, we hope that
our (brief) discussion of limited dependent variable models will encourage others to
learn more about these methods and construct novel ways to apply them. We believe
that using categorical and limited dependent models has, can, and will improve our
collective understanding of many of the important issues facing higher education.

Appendix

/
***************************************************************-
********************************
These are examples of commands used to estimates the models in the
chapter.
The full code is not contained here for space constraints.
***************************************************************-
********************************/
**Set directories, open data, start log as needed.
*set macro vars
global $iv = " "

*enrl_college is the outcome variable we created.

362 A. Rodriguez et al.

**** Goodness of Fit ******

* unconditional model
logit enrl_college, or

*full model
logit enrl_college $iv
estimates store loges
predict loges, pr

*describing the pred probs

predict pprob5
set scheme s2mono
histogram pprob5, title("", color(black) margin(zero) size
(small)) ///
xti("Predicted probabily", size(small)) graphregion(color
(white)) /// plotregion(color(white)) yti("Density", size(small))

summarize pprob5

*examining LR
fitstat

*examining classification
estat classification
lsens, title("", color(black) margin(zero) size(small)) ///
graphregion(color(white)) plotregion(color(white)) xti(,size
(small)) yti(,size(small))
lroc, title("", color(black) margin(zero) size(small)) ///
graphregion(color(white)) plotregion(color(white)) xti(,size
(small)) yti(,size(small))

/******LOGIT*****/
estimates restore loges
margins, dydx(*) post
estimates store loges_me

*graphing
estimates restore loges
margins , dydx(gpa) asobserved at(gpa=(1 (.25) 4))
set scheme s2mono
marginsplot, recastci(rarea) recast(line) ciopts(color(*.7)) ///
graphregion(color(white)) plotregion(color(white)) ti("") yti
("Change in Pr(Enroll)", size(small)) xti("GPA, 10th grade",
size(small))
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 363

*look at a few populations of interest

mtable, rowname(1 Female first-gen low-inc ) ci clear at
(student_gender==2 parental_ed==1 family_income==(1 2) ) atmeans

/******PROBIT*****/
probit enrl_college $iv
estimates store probes
predict probes, pr
margins, dydx(*) post
estimates store probes_me

/******LPM *****/
regress enrl_college i.student_gender $dems $acad $expct $netwk
$sch
estimates store lpm
predict lpm, xb

*diagnostic of lpm
histogram lpm
set scheme s2mono
histogram lpm, title("", color(black) margin(zero) size(small))
///
xti("Predicted probabily", size(small)) graphregion(color(white))
plotregion(color(white)) yti("Density", size(small)) xline(0 1,
lstyle(foreground) lpattern("--"))

*plot residual v fitted

set scheme s2mono
rvfplot, yline(0, lstyle(foreground) lpattern("--")) graphregion
(color(white)) plotregion(color(white)) xline(0 1, lstyle(fore-
ground) lpattern("--")) xti(, size(small)) yti(, size(small))

*check for heteroskedasticity

estat imtest

************************ORDINAL/MULTINO-
MIAL***********************
*pse_enroll_sel is the dependent var we created.

ologit pse_enroll_sel i.student_gender $iv, or

estimates store ord

*get some marginal effects

estimates restore ord
364 A. Rodriguez et al.

margins, dydx(gpa) post

estimates store ord_me

predict nocol_log lsel_log sel_log msel_log

*test if we need multinomial

oparallel, ic
brant, detail

***run it as multinomial
mlogit pse_enroll_sel $iv, rrr
estimates store multi

*get a marginal effect

margins , dydx(gpa) post
estimates store multi_me

*tests of IVs
estimates restore multi
mlogtest, lr
estimates restore multi
mlogtest, wald

*Test of categories - can we collapse them?

mlogtest, combine
estimates restore multi
mlogtest, lrcomb
estimates restore multi
mlogtest, hausman

*Interpretation
estimates restore multi
listcoef student_gender student_race_combo stugpa_10 stu_mathirt
apcred, gt adjacent

*Pred Probs for select subgroups

estimates restore multi
mtable if student_gender==2 & parental_ed==1 & family_income==1,
atmeans noci rowname(lowinc firstg) clear brief

************************COUNT************************
poisson apps $iv, irr
estimates store pois

estat ic
7 Categorical and Limited Dependent Variable Modeling in Higher Education 365

prcounts pois, max(20) plot

label var poispreq "Poisson"
labe var poisobeq "Observed"
label var poisval "# of apps"

nbreg apps $iv, irr

estimates store nb

estat ic

countfit apps $iv, nbreg prm

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Chapter 8
Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope
in Higher Education

Robert K. Toutkoushian and Jason C. Lee

8.1 Introduction

The cost of providing higher education services has always been an enduring topic of
interest for several reasons. First and foremost, the notable rise over time in the
prices charged to students and their families for going to college has fueled concerns
that the high cost of services is the driving force behind this trend. If colleges are not
educating students and producing research at their most efficient levels, the argument
goes, then some of this inefficiency is passed along to consumers in the form of
higher prices. Accordingly, one way to alleviate the pressure on students is to
examine the spending patterns and levels of institutions and determine if there is
room for improvement. Higher education costs are a perennial policy topic due to the
large subsidies (such as state appropriations) given to public and even private
institutions, and the other activities that state governments cannot fund (i.e., their
opportunity costs) when they provide these subsidies. The higher education industry
has also come under fire for perceptions of its inefficiency and inability to produce
graduates in sufficient numbers and quality to fill jobs within specific sectors of the
economy.
Within this context, researchers have conducted a number of studies over the
years to examine the cost structure of colleges and universities (e.g., Bowen, 1980;
Brinkman & Leslie, 1986; James, 1978; Paulsen & Smart, 2001). The focus of many
of these studies is on the relationship between institutional size and spending. The
concept of economies of scale (or increasing returns to scale) holds that as an
organization produces more output, ceteris paribus, the cost per unit of output
falls. This arises because costs that do not vary directly with output can be spread

R. K. Toutkoushian (*) · J. C. Lee

Institute of Higher Education, University of Georgia, Athens, GA, USA
e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 371

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_8
372 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

over more units of output. Furthermore, as the organization grows it can better utilize
resources in ways that further lower costs per unit of output. It is also possible,
however, that an organization could produce too much output along one of its
dimensions, and as a result costs per unit of output rise as output continues to
increase. This is known as diseconomies of scale or decreasing returns to scale.
Applying this notion to colleges and universities can be challenging because some
focus only on undergraduate education while others also provide graduate education
and engage in research activities. Accordingly, there may be a variety of measures of
output considered for higher education institutions, including the number of under-
graduate and graduate students taught, the number of degrees awarded, and the
quantity of research produced.
The textbook depiction of economies and diseconomies of scale is shown in
Fig. 8.1. The average cost curve (AC) shows the relationship between the cost per
unit of output and the amount of output produced. Likewise, the marginal cost curve
(MC) shows how total costs change as an additional unit of output is produced. If
there are economies of scale followed by diseconomies of scale in the organization,
then the average cost and marginal cost curves could both be U-shaped, meaning that
they each initially fall as output increases and then eventually rise as output
continues to increase. The lowest point along the average cost curve is the output
level where there are constant returns to scale, or the economies of scale are
exhausted. Note that by definition average costs fall when the marginal cost is
below average cost and vice-versa. This relationship between average and marginal
cost is key to the methods we discuss in this chapter that are used to assess
economies and diseconomies of scale.
Economists in particular have devoted significant attention to measuring econo-
mies of scale in many different industries and markets within industries. The notion
is important because it can provide information as to the most cost-efficient way of
organizing firms within a market or industry and best utilize scarce resources to meet
the needs of customers. To see the connection to higher education, suppose that a
given state needs to educate 100,000 students each year at its four-year public
institutions. If due to economies of scale two colleges could educate 50,000 each
and do so at a lower total cost than, say, 20 colleges each enrolling 5000 students,
then it would be more cost efficient to organize the university system into fewer but
larger institutions. The resulting surplus of resources could be used to produce other
things for the betterment of society. In fact, this type of justification is often behind
the decisions of a number of multi-campus institutions, state and university systems,
and nations to merge public institutions in the hope of taking advantage of econo-
mies of scale and thus provide educational services at a lower cost per student
(Tirivayi, van der Brink, & Groot, 2014). Economies of scale are likewise important
for institutions that are experiencing falling enrollments due to demographic changes
and/or increased competition in postsecondary markets. As these institutions become
smaller, their costs per student will rise and the resulting diseconomies will add
pressure to either redesign, merge or close these institutions.
Economies of scale are also important when considering how state and national
governments should fund their public colleges and universities. Most states, for
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 373

example, use funding formulas to help make decisions about how much financial
support to give to institutions. If there are economies of scale in the provision of
higher education services, and a state believes that it is important to have one or more
smaller institutions, then funding formulas should be adjusted to direct more funding
per student to these smaller institutions to help them meet their expected costs.
Another important aspect of higher education is that colleges and universities
often use their resources to produce multiple outputs such as undergraduate educa-
tion, graduate education, and scholarly research. Researchers have therefore focused
on whether there are any cost savings from the joint production of outputs. This is
referred to as economies of scope. Economies of scope may arise if, for example,
graduate students are used to help teach undergraduate students or conduct research.
The issue is important for determining whether a large university that engages in all
three activities is more cost efficient than a similarly-sized institution that specializes
in only one of these areas.
The main question that we address in this chapter is: Does the notion of econo-
mies of scale and scope still hold for colleges and universities? To date, the results
from empirical studies (discussed in detail in the literature review section) have been
mixed with regard to whether economies of scale and scope exist, and if so, at what
output levels do they occur. One obvious reason for the wide range of findings is
related to data issues. Researchers have studied different groups of institutions, such
as only research institutions or only two-year public institutions, and comparing the
findings across sectors is problematic due to their possibly having different ways of
using their resources to produce outputs. Likewise, researchers have used various
measures of output for colleges and universities, and examined economies of scale in
different time periods.
In addition to data issues, there are methodological differences across studies that
may have contributed to the variety of findings on this topic. Some studies have used
estimates of the total cost curve (i.e., how total costs are related to quantities of
outputs and other factors) to examine average costs and changes in total cost (i.e.,
marginal costs) and assess economies of scale, whereas others have focused on
estimating the average cost curve directly and using the parameter estimates to
determine whether there are economies of scale. Another issue in economies of
scale studies is the choice of functional form used by the researcher for the institu-
tion’s total, average, and marginal cost curves. Empirical studies have modeled total
costs as either a cubic, quadratic, or hybrid function of output. Although the cubic
total cost curve has the advantage of giving rise to quadratic (and possibly U-shaped)
average and marginal cost curves, it is more challenging to estimate and interpret.
There is also uncertainty within the field as to whether colleges should be treated
as single-product or multi-product firms. The textbook discussion of economies of
scale presumes that the organization makes one type of output. This may arguably
hold for certain types of colleges such as community colleges and four-year institu-
tions that focus almost exclusively on undergraduate instruction. However, for many
other postsecondary institutions, the analogy to a firm producing a single type of
output is a bit more problematic. Colleges that grant master’s and doctor’s degrees
can spend considerable resources on undergraduate instruction, graduate instruction,
374 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

and research at the same time.1 Accordingly, they should be characterized as multi-
product firms. The challenge with multi-product firms when examining economies
of scale is that it can be difficult to separate out the spending that is attributed to any
one output. This is particularly true in the case of higher education where spending is
reported in an aggregated form across outputs.
It is also important for researchers and policy makers to obtain more current
evidence about economies of scale and scope. Almost all of the studies on economies
of scale and scope in higher education were conducted using data from the 1970s to
1990s, and the few studies that have appeared in more recent years examined cost
structures for institutions outside of the United States (e.g., Agasisti & Bianco, 2007;
Fu, Huang, & Tien, 2008; Johnes & Velasco, 2007; Lenton, 2008; Stevens, 2005).
The reexamination of economies of scale and scope is particularly important because
there have been substantial changes since the 1990s in the state of the economy and
the criticisms raised against higher education institutions for rising prices.
In this chapter, we revisit economies of scale and scope in US higher education.
We begin by reviewing how researchers have tried to measure economies of scale
and scope, and the issues that they must confront along the way. We start the
discussion by treating higher education institutions as single-product firms, and
then move to the more complex situation for higher education institutions that are
multi-product firms. We then review the empirical evidence to date on economies of
scale and scope. Using data from the Delta Cost Project and IPEDS for the
2012–2013 academic year, we examine whether there is still evidence of economies
and/or diseconomies of scale for two-year (associate) institutions and four-year
(teaching- and research-oriented) institutions. Finally, for the instances where insti-
tutions most resemble multi-product firms, we also examine economies of scope.

8.2 Methods for Assessing Economies of Scale and Scope

8.2.1 Background

The notion of economies and diseconomies of scale can be traced back to the 1800s
and the work of Mangoldt (1863). Basically, economies of scale holds that as an
organization increases its production of output, total costs rise at a decreasing rate.
This pattern is thought to begin at relatively low levels of output because as output
initially increases, the fixed costs used for production are distributed over more
output, which in turn leads to lower average or per-unit costs. In higher education,
for example, fixed costs may include the salaries of key administrative personnel
such as the President and chief financial officer, and the minimum education and
support functions that a college of any size needs to operate. In addition, economies

1
Public service is usually omitted from consideration due to the lack of data on service outputs.
Nonetheless, it is arguably an important part of an institution’s production function.
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 375

of scale may be enhanced if the organization can take advantage of the specialization
of resources to produce output more efficiently as it increases in size. For example, in
the case of higher education a small college may hire one professor trained as a labor
economist to teach a wide range of courses such as macroeconomics and history of
economic thought. As the institution becomes larger, other faculty with specialties in
macroeconomics and economic history can be hired to teach these courses and the
labor economist would be able to focus on teaching labor economics. However, if
the organization produces too much output given its resources, then total costs may
eventually begin to rise at an increasing rate due to inefficiencies in production.
Perhaps the best example of this in higher education is that large institutions often
group departments into colleges. These colleges within an institution have their own
administrative costs, and the institution may incur additional costs to coordinate and
plan activities across these colleges. As noted by Brinkman (1990), economists
usually assume that when there are economies and diseconomies of scale, both the
average cost and marginal cost curves will be quadratic (U-shaped) functions of
output as depicted earlier in Fig. 8.1. However, as we show later in this chapter, this
is not always the case.

Cost Per Unit of

Output

MC AC

Output
-------- Economies of Scale ------- Diseconomies of Scale ---------

Fig. 8.1 Economies of scale – cubic total cost function

376 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

There have been a number of efforts to estimate cost functions for institutions of
higher education, and determine whether there are economies and diseconomies of
scale. Readers who are interested in the early literature on higher education costs are
referred to Russell (1954), Maynard (1971) and Witmer (1972), as well as the
forthcoming meta-analysis of economies of scale and scope by Zhang and
Worthington (in press). The first studies in higher education documented relation-
ships between credit hour production and average and marginal costs (Stevens &
Elliott, 1925; Reeves & Russell, 1935; Middlebrook et al., 1955; Moore, 1959).
Beginning in the 1960s, economies-of-scale studies began to rely on multivariate
statistical modeling to estimate cost functions. Thorough reviews of the literature on
cost studies prior to the 1990s can be found in Brinkman and Leslie (1986) and
Brinkman (1990). The late 1980s through the early 2000s saw a number of notable
efforts to measure economies of scale for the US (Getz, Siegfried, & Zhang, 1991;
Koshal & Koshal, 1995, 1999; Laband & Lentz, 2003, 2004; Paulsen, 1989;
Toutkoushian, 1999). In addition, studies of economies of scale began to appear
outside of the US context as well (Fu et al., 2008; Izadi, Johnes, Oskrochi, &
Crouchley, 2002; Stevens, 2005).

8.2.2 Economies of Scale

The theory of cost functions follows from the general optimization problem of an
organization (Bowen, 1980; Pfouts, 1961; Pindyck & Rubinfeld, 1989; Teece, 1982;
Weldon, 1948). Suppose that an organization uses two kinds of inputs such as labor
(L ) and capital (K ) to produce a single type of output (Q). The relationship between
these inputs and output is referred to as a production function, and can be written in
general form as f(L,K ) ¼ Q.
The total cost incurred by the organization is a linear function of the quantities of
labor and capital used multiplied by their respective prices:

TC ¼ wL þ pK ð8:1Þ

where w ¼ wage rate and p ¼ price per unit of capital. This is sometimes referred to
in the literature as an isocost curve. The organization’s goal is to find the combina-
tion of labor and capital that it can use to produce a specific level of output at the
lowest total cost. Economists often represent this decision-making process in math-
ematical terms with a Lagrangian function (Ø) that is written as:

∅ ¼ wL þ pK  τ½f ðL; K Þ  Q ¼ 0 ð8:2Þ

where τ denotes the shadow price of output, which represents the impact of the level
of the constraint on optimization. Optimization in this function is depicted by finding
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 377

Capital (K)

K0

Output Q0 = 1,000

Isocost = TC0

Labor (L)
L0

Fig. 8.2 Depiction of cost minimization from Lagrangian function

the values of K, L, τ that minimize Eq. (8.2).2 This optimization problem for capital
and labor is depicted graphically in Fig. 8.2. In this simple illustration, the organiza-
tion has decided to produce 1000 units of output, and the lowest cost at which this can
be achieved is TC0.
The total cost function (TC) shows the relationship between the quantity of output
produced (Q) and the lowest total cost needed to produce each level of output given
the prices of production inputs (P) and other variables (X) aside from output that can
affect total costs such as the institution’s mission, selectivity, and geographic
location:

TC ¼ f ðQjP; XÞ ð8:3Þ

The function f shows the mathematical relationship (e.g., linear, quadratic, cubic)
between output, prices, other factors and total cost. When studying higher education
institutions, particularly those that focus on instruction, researchers typically use
enrollments as the relevant measure of output. The total cost function is derived by
repeating the optimization exercise in Eq. (8.2) for a range of output levels. This is

2
It is common in these optimization problems to focus on the decision variables K and L and set
aside the shadow price parameter τ. This value reflects the change in the production function on
optimization.
378 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Capital (K)

TC3
TC=f(Q)

TC2

Q3
TC1

Q2

Q1
Labor (L)

Fig. 8.3 Derivation of total cost function

represented graphically by the arrow path in Fig. 8.3. Each time a new output level is
chosen, it gives rise to a new optimum and corresponding minimum total cost.
The average cost curve (AC) in the single-product case represents the relationship
between output and the cost per unit of output, and is found by dividing total cost by
the level of output:

AC ¼ TC=Q ð8:4Þ

Finally, the marginal cost curve (MC) denotes the rate at which total costs change as
an additional unit of output is produced. The marginal cost curve is obtained by
taking the partial derivative of total costs with respect to output:

MC ¼ ∂TC=∂Q ð8:5Þ

In Table 8.1, we provide a numerical illustration of these alternative cost mea-

sures and how they are related to each other. Suppose that an institution would incur
fixed costs of $2 million regardless of how many students they enroll. The institution
also knows that their variable costs (i.e., those costs that vary in proportion to
enrollments) are as shown in the third column of Table 8.1. Total costs are then
obtained by summing the fixed and variable costs at each corresponding enrollment
level. For example, the institution would have to spend $58 million to educated 7000
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 379

Table 8.1 Numerical illustration of average and marginal costs in higher education
Enrollments Fixed cost Variable cost Total cost Average cost Marginal cost
0 $2,000,000 $0 $2000,000 n/a n/a
1000 $2,000,000 $12,000,000 $14,000,000 $14,000 $12,000
2000 $2,000,000 $22,000,000 $24,000,000 $12,000 $10,000
3000 $2,000,000 $30,000,000 $32,000,000 $10,667 $8000
4000 $2,000,000 $36,000,000 $38,000,000 $9500 $6000
5000 $2,000,000 $40,000,000 $42,000,000 $8400 $4000
6000 $2,000,000 $46,000,000 $48,000,000 $8000 $6000
7000 $2,000,000 $56,000,000 $58,000,000 $8286 $10,000
8000 $2,000,000 $68,000,000 $70,000,000 $8750 $12,000
9000 $2,000,000 $82,000,000 $84,000,000 $9333 $14,000
10,000 $2,000,000 $100,000,000 $102,000,000 $10,200 $18,000
Notes: Illustration assumes that the institution incurs $2 million in fixed costs. Total costs are
defined as fixed plus variable costs. Average costs are found by dividing total costs by enrollments.
Marginal costs are obtained by dividing the change in total cost between two different enrollment
levels by the change in enrollments

students ($2 million in fixed costs plus $56 million in variable costs). Average costs
are found by dividing total costs by enrollments. The figures in the fourth column
show that these costs per unit of output initially fall as enrollments increase to 6000
students, and then rise as enrollments continue to increase. This pattern is an
example of economies and diseconomies of scale. Finally, marginal costs are
approximated by dividing the change in total costs between two enrollment levels
by the change in enrollments. For example, when the institution increased in size
from 1000 to 2000 students, total costs increased by $10 million. Accordingly, total
cost changed by an average of $10,000 per student over this range. This is the
approximate marginal cost at this output level.3 Finally, note that average costs are
falling (i.e., there are economies of scale) as long as the marginal cost is less than the
average cost, and vice-versa. This relationship between average and marginal cost is
important for how researchers assess economies and diseconomies of scale.
As noted earlier, economies of scale refers to the relationship between the
quantity of output produced and the minimum total cost needed to produce output.
In Fig. 8.3, this is reflected in how total cost changes as output changes. If total costs
increase at a slower rate than output, then the organization is experiencing econo-
mies of scale (or increasing returns to scale). Likewise, diseconomies of scale
(or decreasing returns to scale) implies that total costs rise at a faster rate than output.

3
The marginal costs shown in this illustration are slightly different from what is obtained by taking
the partial derivative of the total cost function. The partial derivative formula shows the change in
total costs due to a one-unit increase in output, whereas the illustration in Table 8.1 shows the
change in total costs due to a 1000-unit increase in output.
380 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Two different approaches can be used to evaluate economies of scale in the

single-product case. The choice between these options depends on the specific
functional form used for the total cost equation. The first approach is to algebraically
solve for the output level at which average costs are minimized. This can be done by
taking the partial derivative of the average cost curve with respect to output, setting
the derivative equal to zero, and then finding the output level that makes this true
(Toutkoushian & Paulsen, 2016). For this to work, however, the average cost
equation must have a quadratic functional form where a solution exists.
There are instances, however, where the average cost curve does not have a
functional form that leads to a unique cost-minimizing output level. Accordingly, a
second approach can be used in these situations to assess economies and disecon-
omies of scale. In this case, the researcher compares the estimated average and
marginal costs for an institution at specific output levels. By definition, average costs
are falling as long as MC < AC, and average costs are rising when MC > AC.
Accordingly, the ratio of average to marginal cost at a designated output level (S*)
can be used to assess economies of scale:

S∗ ¼ AC ∗ =MC ∗ ð8:6Þ

If S* > 1, then there are economies of scale at the output level Q* because marginal
costs are below average cost. Researchers can substitute a range of output levels into
the ratio measure in Eq. (8.6) and estimate if and where economies of scale exist.
The aforementioned approaches only apply when the institution produces one
type of output. This arguably holds for two-year (associate) institutions and many
four-year (undergraduate) institutions that do not engage in graduate education or
research. However, there are other higher education institutions that provide under-
graduate instruction, graduate institution, research, and public service. When an
organization produces multiple outputs, it may not be possible to combine the
separate outputs into a single indicator that has meaning because the outputs are
measured on different scales and have qualitatively different values. For example,
how would one interpret the sum of an institution’s undergraduate enrollment and
number of publications in academic journals? Even combining graduate and under-
graduate students together into an output measure may be problematic because of the
different costs associated with educating each and their unique roles in producing
research and teaching.
Accordingly, colleges and universities that are involved in producing some
combination of undergraduate instruction, graduate instruction, and research should
be viewed as a multi-product firm. For institutions that produce J different outputs,
their total cost function can be rewritten in a more general form such as:

TC ¼ f ðQ1 ; . . . QJ jP; X Þ ð8:7Þ

8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 381

where Qj ¼ quantity of the j-th type of output produced. The function f now shows
how the multiple outputs, prices, and other variables are combined to influence total
costs. The marginal cost curve for each output (MCj) can be determined in the same
manner as before by taking the partial derivative of total cost with regard to the j-th
output.
The multi-product nature of these institutions creates problems for defining
average costs, however, because it is not clear what output should be used in the
denominator for calculating cost per unit of output. For these colleges, total costs are
a composite of the costs incurred from producing each of the J outputs, and the way
in which financial data for colleges and universities are reported to the government
and in financial statements do not allow researchers to parse expenditures and assign
them solely to each output.
Economists have therefore identified two types of economies of scale for multi-
product organizations. The first is known as ray economies of scale, which refers to
how total costs change as all outputs are simultaneously increased by the same
proportion. The second notion is referred to as product-specific economies of scale,
which focuses on how total costs change as only one of the outputs is increased,
holding the other outputs constant. This means that an institution may have ray
economies of scale and/or product-specific economies of scale for each type of
output produced.
To measure ray and product-specific economies of scale for multi-product insti-
tutions, only a modified version of the second approach discussed earlier will work.
In the technique by Baumol, Panzar and Willig (Baumol, Panzar, & Willig, 1982),
for example, product-specific economies of scale are estimated by first calculating
the average cost of producing each output holding the other outputs constant
(referred to as average incremental cost (AICj)). The general form of the average
incremental cost calculation is written as:


AIC ∗
j ¼ TC ∗
j  TC j =Q∗
j ð8:8Þ

where TC ∗ ∗
j ¼ estimated total cost of producing Qj units of the j-th output and the
mean levels of all other outputs, and TC-j ¼ estimated total cost of producing all
outputs at their mean levels except for the j-th output. The numerator thus represents
the change in total costs that are due to only the j-th output, and dividing this total by
Q∗j converts it to a per-unit measure. Accordingly, it is an estimate of the average
cost of producing the j-th output.
To see how this is done for an institution that produces three distinct outputs (such
as undergraduate instruction, graduate instruction, and research), the estimated total
cost of producing Q∗ 1 units of the first output and the mean levels of the other outputs
is obtained by substituting these output values into the total cost function:
 ∗ 
TC ∗   
1 ¼ f Q1 ; Q2 ; Q3 ; X ð8:9Þ
382 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

where Q j ¼ average of the j-th output.4 Likewise, the estimated total cost of
producing all but the first output is found in a similar way, except that the first
output level is set equal to zero:
 
TC1 ¼ f 0; Q 3 ; X
2 ; Q ð8:10Þ

The resulting average incremental cost of the first output is then calculated as
follows:
 ∗  ∗
AIC∗
1 ¼ TC 1  TC 1 =Q1 ð8:11Þ

At the average cost minimizing level of output it must be true that AICj ¼ MCj
because the marginal cost curve crosses the average cost curve at its lowest point.
Therefore, the ratio of average incremental cost to marginal cost is used in a similar
way as before to assess product-specific economies of scale:

S∗ ∗ ∗
j ¼ AIC j =MC j ð8:12Þ

When S∗ j > 1, the average incremental cost exceeds marginal cost and the institution
is operating in the product-specific economies of scale portion of its production
function for this output. Likewise, when the ratio is less than one, it indicates that
there are diseconomies of scale. These calculations are then made for the remaining
two outputs as well.
Similarly, ray economies of scale (S*) focus on the relationship between total cost
and total output for all products combined. This is achieved in the Baumol/Panzar/
Willig approach as follows:
X
S∗ ¼ TC ∗ = j Qj MC j ð8:13Þ

where TC* ¼ total cost of producing output vector Q* (in the three-output example
Q* ¼ Q∗ ∗ ∗
1 , Q2 , Q3 ) and Qj *MCj ¼ assumed quantity of each output multiplied by its
marginal cost. When S* > 1, ray economies of scale are said to exist, and vice-versa.

8.2.3 Economies of Scope

Another complication for multi-product firms arises because there may be added
efficiencies or inefficiencies due to the joint production of outputs. In higher
education, for example, graduate students are often employed to help faculty mem-
bers conduct research and teach undergraduates. As a result, there may be some cost
savings for an institution from engaging in both graduate education and either

4
Estimated total cost is affected by all of the linear, quadratic, and interaction terms involving Q1.
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 383

Graduate Output (Q1)

Research Output (Q2)

B

Fig. 8.4 Multi-product production possibilities

research or undergraduate education. Likewise, it is possible that research activities

can be used to enhance graduate and undergraduate education, and vice-versa.
Figure 8.4 depicts a production possibilities frontier where there are complemen-
tarities between outputs for research and graduate education. The curve shows the
quantities of the two outputs that could be produced from a given level of capital and
labor inputs. When the curve is concave (or bowed outward), then more total output
can be produced by the college when it engages in both graduate education and
research, as opposed to specializing in one or the other. In this example, two colleges
with the same inputs could produce more total graduate education and research by
doing both at the same time (such as at point C) than would be true if one college
specialized in graduate education (point A) and the other specialized in research
(point B). This is an illustration of economies of scope. It is also possible that the
joint production leads to no change in total cost, in which case the frontier would be a
straight line and there are constant returns to scope. Finally, diseconomies of scope
may arise if producing both outputs leads to cost increases (i.e., the frontier is convex
or bowed inward).
To measure economies of scope, the total cost function can be generalized to
allow the outputs to interact with each other, and thus become part of the functional
form in Eq. (8.7). Global economies of scope refer to how total costs are affected by
the joint production of all J outputs, whereas product-specific economies of scope
look at how costs are affected by the production of each individual output after
taking as given the production of all other outputs. The formula for global economies
384 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

of scope (Z*) involves comparing estimates of the total costs if a college produced
only one output to its total cost with all outputs. In the three-output case, this would
be written as:
       
Z ∗ ¼ TC Q∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
1 ; 0; 0 þ TC 0; Q2 ; 0 þ TC 0; 0; Q3  TC =TC
∗
ð8:14Þ

where TC* ¼ total cost evaluated at (Q∗ ∗ ∗

1 , Q2 , Q3 ). The global economies of scope
metric can be interpreted as the percentage change in total cost that would arise if
each output was produced alone rather than in conjunction with other outputs. When
Z* > 0, then total costs are higher when the outputs are not jointly produced,
meaning that there are global economies of scope.
Similarly, product-specific economies of scope (Z ∗ j ) denote the estimated change
in total costs that are attributable to adding each specific output. For example, the
product-specific economies of scope from adding the first output would be:
  ∗    
Z∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
1 ¼ TC Q1 ; 0; 0 þ TC 0; Q2 ; Q3  TC =TC
∗
ð8:15Þ

When Z ∗j is positive, it suggests that there are economies of scope from adding the
first output to the institution because total costs would be higher if only the j-th
output were produced separately.

8.2.4 Functional Forms for Cost Equations

Our earlier discussion focused on the general concepts of economies of scale and
scope, and how they differ when the institution is treated as a single- or multi-
product organization. We now turn to the specification of cost functions and how this
affects the calculations of economies of scale and scope.
Researchers who study economies of scale and scope have used several different
functional forms to represent the total cost function. Let’s begin with the case where
a college is viewed as a single-product organization. A natural starting place would
be to specify total costs as a cubic function of output because this gives rise to a
quadratic marginal cost curve when the first derivative is taken, which will be
U-shaped as in Fig. 8.1 provided the coefficient on the cubed output variable is
positive. Likewise, the average cost curve will also be quadratic in this instance,
although the average cost-minimizing output cannot be determined algebraically.
Other researchers have instead treated total costs as a quadratic function of output.
The average cost curve that results from dividing total costs by output would be
non-linear; however, and as in the case with a cubic total cost function, there is no
unique solution to the average cost-minimizing output (see Pindyck & Rubinfeld,
1989). To see this, consider the case where total costs are a quadratic function of
enrollments (Q) and a linear function of another regressor (X) that shifts the total cost
curve:
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 385

TC ¼ α þ β1 Q þ β2 Q2 þ γX þ e ð8:16Þ

Average costs are then found by dividing through by enrollments:

AC ¼ α=Q þ β1 þ 2β2 Q þ γX=Q þ e ð8:17Þ

Taking the derivative of AC with respect to Q yields:

α
∂AC=∂Q ¼  2 þ 2β2  γX=Q2 ð8:18Þ
Q
which yields no unique solution for Q to minimize average costs. It should also be
noted that the quadratic total cost curve gives rise to a linear marginal cost curve of
the form MC ¼ β1 þ 2β2Q. In both of these instances, economies of scale must be
assessed by comparing average and marginal cost as shown in Eq. (8.6). This is
depicted graphically in Fig. 8.5.
A third option would be to explicitly model average costs as a quadratic function
of output. Doing so would give rise to a unique solution for the output level that
minimizes average costs (Toutkoushian, 1999). It should be noted, however, that this
average cost curve is not identical to the average cost curve that is derived from the
total cost curve, and thus may lead to different conclusions regarding economies of
scale.

Cost Per Unit of

j-th Output

MCj

AICj

Quantity of j-th
∗ Output (Qj)
-------- Economies of Scale ------- Diseconomies of Scale ---------

Fig. 8.5 Economies of scale – quadratic total cost function

386 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

For multi-product institutions, total costs can also be modeled as cubic or

quadratic functions of each output. As noted earlier, it is not possible to define an
average cost curve in this instance because of the presence of multiple outputs.
Therefore, to assess ray and product-specific economies of scale, one must use the
approach outlined in Eqs. (8.12) and (8.13). Furthermore, creating variables for the
interactions of the outputs with each other allows for the examination of global and
product-specific economies of scope.
Baumol et al. (Baumol et al., 1982) introduced what they call the flexible fixed
cost quadratic (FFCQ) function to represent the cost structure of multi-product firms
(also see Panzar & Willig, 1977). In the FFCQ function, each output and factor price
is entered in linear and quadratic form in the cost function, and each output is
interacted with all of the other outputs and factor prices. Furthermore, the FFCQ
model includes dummy variables for whether each of the outputs is produced. In the
case of an institution that produces three outputs (Q1,Q2,Q3), the FFCQ function is
written as:
X3 X4  X X
1 4 4
TC ¼ α0 þ α j Dj þ βQ þ
j¼1 j j
γ Q Q þ Xθ þ u
k¼1 jk j k
j¼1 2 j¼1

ð8:19Þ

where all variables are defined as before and Dj ¼ dummy variable for whether the j-
th output is produced by the institution. It is common for studies using the FFCQ
function to treat factor prices (P) in the same manner as outputs (and thus P ¼ Q4 in
Eq. (8.19)). The inclusion of the dummy variables for whether each of the outputs is
produced is a strength of the FFCQ approach because not all institutions produce all
outputs, and in theory the coefficients on these variables capture the fixed costs
associated with each output. Note that it is also possible to enter outputs in cubic
form to this equation, and thus generate U-shaped rather than linear marginal cost
curves.
Despite its advantages, the FFCQ approach has two disadvantages. First, it is
more difficult to assess economies and diseconomies of scale with the FFCQ
function because the researcher must use the parameters of the model and the
means of the variables to simulate costs at different output levels. Second, there is
no guarantee that under this approach the institution will have economies of scale
followed by diseconomies of scale. It is possible, for example, that there will only be
economies or diseconomies of scale throughout the entire range of output. It is even
possible that the results will show diseconomies of scale at low output levels
followed by economies of scale at higher output levels.
Some researchers have used modifications of these approaches to study econo-
mies of scale and scope in higher education. Laband and Lentz (2004), for example,
combined a cubic cost function with the flexible fixed cost approach and the Baumol
et al. (1982) method to calculate economies and diseconomies of scale. Other studies
have likewise used the flexible fixed cost function approach in a double-log
(or translog) cost function so as to be consistent with a Cobb-Douglas production
function (e.g., de Groot, McMahon & Volkwein, 1991). In addition, some
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 387

researchers have utilized frontier cost models to not only assess economies of scale
and scope, but to also measure the production efficiency level of individual colleges
and universities (see for example Johnes, 1998; Johnes & Johnes, 2009; Robst,
2000, 2001; Titus & Eagan, 2016).

8.3 Literature Review

As already alluded to in the methods section, researchers have been analyzing the
cost structure of colleges and universities for almost a century (Stevens & Elliott,
1925). As theoretical and methodological advancements have been made within the
larger field of economics, the higher education cost literature has progressed from
studies that analyzed the cost per credit hour, to analyses of average and marginal
costs, to single-product cost functions, and, finally, to the multi-product cost func-
tion popularized by Baumol et al. (1982) and Mayo (1984). This review considers all
of these studies in defining the outputs and inputs relevant to cost structure of higher
education, and then concludes by focusing on more recent studies when discussing
economies of scale and scope.

8.3.1 Outputs

Higher education institutions are traditionally tasked with three central missions:
teaching, research, and public service. Of course these missions vary by institution,
but there is general agreement that these are the primary purposes of higher educa-
tion in the United States. Researchers interested in the production and costs of
colleges and universities have attempted to quantify the relationships between inputs
such as faculty and staff and outputs such as enrollments in a number of ways, often
relying upon data provided by federal and state governments or, in the case of
interdepartmental analyses, postsecondary institutions. As such, the research on
this topic is limited by the data available (Cohn & Cooper, 2004; Lewis & Dundar,
2001). A review of the three primary outputs of postsecondary institutions and how
they have been defined in the cost function literature follows.
Teaching Outputs All postsecondary institutions, regardless of sector, are respon-
sible for imparting knowledge and skills to their students. Thus, human capital
accumulation would be the output of interest in the cost functions estimated, but
measuring human capital is complicated by the lack of a standardized outcome
(Nelson & Hevert, 1992; Verry & Davies, 1976). Moreover, as institutions have
different missions or aims, agreeing on what that outcome should be is difficult. For
example, is it the primary aim of a liberal arts institution to increase the earnings of
its graduates? Should graduates from a science or engineering program be required
to take a standardized exam on subject matter that lies outside of their degree
388 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

program? Given the decentralized nature of higher education in the U.S., who would
determine the content of this exam? Instead of attempting to reach consensus on
what the outcomes of instruction in higher education should be, researchers utilize a
number of proxy variables that are more easily quantifiable and readily available.
The most commonly used proxy for teaching or instructional output is the number
of students enrolled (Cohn, Rhine & Santos, 1989; Koshal & Koshal, 1999; Laband
& Lentz, 2003; Maynard, 1971). This measure often includes full-time students with
most researchers adjusting for the proportion of part-time students enrolled to create
a full-time equivalent (FTE) output measure (Laband & Lentz, 2003). Others instead
use the number of credit hours produced by a given department or institution as the
output of interest (Dundar & Lewis, 1995; Sav, 2004, 2011). In their seminal study,
Verry and Davies (1976) question whether these enrollment proxies should be
treated as the instructional output of the university, citing their inability to account
for student dropouts and their inherent valuing of longer-term coursework as defi-
ciencies. In the end, however, they concluded that the use of enrollment measures as
a proxy for human capital production does not introduce systematic bias into cost
function estimates. The subsequent research in this area has predominantly followed
their lead.
Because the costs of instruction vary by academic department and student level,
most researchers have accounted for this by including independent measures of each
in their models. Those researchers interested in the multi-product nature of higher
education treat undergraduate and graduate instruction as potential complements by
examining whether economies of scope exist between these two types of instruction,
given the role that graduate students play in undergraduate teaching at research
universities (Cohn et al., 1989). Others researchers, especially those examining
European university systems (Johnes, 1997, 1998; Lenton, 2008), model the costs
of science and non-science students independently, as science students are more
expensive to educate (Agasisti & Bianco, 2007; Johnes & Velasco, 2007).
Even though undergraduate and graduate enrollments are the most frequently
used proxy for instructional output, others such as Agasisti and Johnes (2015), de
Groot et al. (1991), and Worthington and Higgs (2011) have argued that degree
completion is a more appropriate measure of teaching output. The difficulty with this
approach lies in identifying which graduating cohort represents the output for the
year that costs are incurred for their production. For example, if a cost function is
being estimated for the 2010–2011 academic year, which graduates are the products
of the costs expended in that year? Moreover, as Cohn et al. (1989) pointed out, this
approach ignores all of the instructional efforts and expenses made for educating
non-graduates, which, given the perpetually low graduation rates in the United
States, is not an insignificant sum.
Research Outputs The production of research has become increasingly impor-
tant in the U.S. system of postsecondary education in the last 75 years (Lewis &
Dundar, 2001). Institutions from across a number of sectors devote substantial
resources to the research mission, while a more select group have the infrastruc-
ture and expertise to compete for the most coveted externally funded grants.
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 389

Accounting for and measuring research production within a cost function

framework can be as perplexing and ambiguous as accounting for instructional
output, but researchers have come up with a handful of generally agreed upon
approaches (Cohn & Cooper, 2004).
Lewis and Dundar (2001) identified four ways in which studies examine research
output within a cost function framework. The first of which is an input measure:
research revenue. Authors using this proxy assume that revenue is correlated with
the funds expended on research or at least indicative of a university or department’s
capacity for research production (Cohn et al., 1989; Nelson & Hevert, 1992). Some
have instead relied upon research expenditures directly as a proxy for research output
(Koshal & Koshal, 2000; Laband & Lentz, 2003; Toutkoushian, 1999).
Although they are more time consuming to collect, publication counts have also
been used as a measure of research production (de Groot et al., 1991; Dundar &
Lewis, 1995; Verry & Davies, 1976; Worthington & Higgs, 2011). There are those
who have indexed publication types (e.g., books, refereed journal articles, confer-
ence papers & presentations, etc.), ascribing weights to each type (Worthington &
Higgs, 2011), while others have created counts for specific types of publications
(de Groot et al., 1991). These proxies seem more aligned with the true research
output of a given institution or department, but they are not as readily available as the
expenditures or revenues collected annually by federal governments. There is also
the issue of timing, in that resources spent on research production today may not
translate into research output until some time in the future given lags in the peer
review process and publication.
Early work in this arena utilized self-reported measures from faculty surveys to
approximate research output. These surveys included questions related to the num-
ber of hours devoted to research (Nelson & Heverth, 1992; Verry & Davies, 1976)
and external ratings of departmental peers (de Groot et al., 1991). As Lewis and
Dundar (2001) pointed out, however, research hours are yet another input
masquerading as an output within the cost function literature.
Service Outputs Public service is one of the tripartite missions of the U.S. university
system and, as such, is recognized as an important output of the higher education
production process (Cohn & Cooper, 2004).To date, higher education researchers do
not include public service outputs in their cost functions.. This likely has to do with the
limitations of the data available as well as the varying definitions of what public service
entails. There are clear service activities at public land and sea grant institutions, often in
the form of extension services, yet some other activities traditionally defined as service
within the professoriate may or may not be considered a public service output (e.g.,
academic journal referee, organizing community events, consulting for community or
state agencies). As a result, economies of scale studies omit this aspect of higher
education production.
390 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

8.3.2 Inputs

There are a number of inputs to consider within the higher education cost function,
including students, faculty, and staff, as well as the buildings and equipment used to
produce teaching, research, and service. Traditionally, researchers have either
assumed that non-labor inputs (e.g., capital) do not differ substantially within the
higher education sector being analyzed, or researchers lack the data necessary to
account for variations in these inputs.Consequently, very few studies (de Groot et al.,
1991; Worthington & Higgs, 2011) include capital costs in their estimates. On the
other hand, almost every recent study investigating higher education cost functions
includes some measure of the price of labor: often faculty wages and fringe benefits.
These expenditures, known as factor prices within this literature, help account for the
variation in labor costs across institutions (Baumol et al., 1982).
Lewis and Dundar (2001) questioned the lack of inputs or controls in this
literature, but they were especially critical of the disregard for the differences in
the production quality of teaching and research. Although the degree to which
quality differs across institutions or what determines quality is debatable, prior
research clearly creates lines of demarcation between various tiers of postsecondary
institutions (Brewer, Gates, & Goldman, 2002; Winston, 1999). Because students
self-select into institutions, it is difficult to disentangle the quality of the institution
from the quality of the student enrolled. Researchers have, however, suggested a
couple of ways to account for quality (Koshal & Koshal, 1995). The most notable
method is to control for incoming student standardized test scores (e.g., SAT or ACT
test scores), or include a measure of institutional reputation or prestige in the cost
function (de Groot, et al., 1991; Koshal & Koshal, 1999, 2000; Koshal, Koshal &
Gupta, 2001; Lenton, 2008).
Beyond controlling for quality, researchers have utilized a number of approaches
to ensure that they are comparing institutions along homogeneous outputs. Those
researchers who run models with public and private institutions aggregated often
include a dummy variable to capture differences between the two institutional types
(de Groot, et al., 1991). Moreover, a number of studies have controlled for average
class size or student to faculty ratio, often finding that larger class sizes are associated
with additional costs (Koshal & Koshal, 1999; Lenton, 2008; Verry & Davies,
1976). Realizing that geography plays a role in the costs associated with the higher
education production function, a number of researchers have included dummies for
urban institutions (Agasisti & Bianco, 2007; Johnes, Johnes, & Thanassoulis, 2008;
Toutkoushian, 1999) or have run models disaggregated by geographic region (Sav,
2004). Finally, because the cost structure of institutions with a medical facility likely
differ significantly from institutions without a hospital, some researchers have
removed those institutions from analyses or included a dummy variable to account
for the differences (Agasisti & Johnes, 2015; de Groot et al., 1991).
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 391

8.3.3 Economies of Scale Findings

Early work on the cost structure of higher education focused on average and
marginal costs and the ratio of these two measures within a single output framework.
Generally, these studies suggest that economies of scale exist at the average level of
production for instruction, although these estimates vary by academic department
(Brinkman, 1990; Brinkman & Leslie, 1986). Because the findings from these
studies are likely biased by their inability to account for the multi-product nature
of the higher education industry (Cohn, Rhine, & Santos, 1989), this review will
focus almost exclusively on the more recent cost function studies that treat univer-
sities as multi-product institutions.
Cohn et al. (1989) authored what is often considered to be the seminal study on
the economies of scale and scope in higher education. They were the first to apply
Baumol et al.’s (1982) flexible fixed cost quadratic model to the college setting,
arguing that the cost of outputs not only depend on the level of outputs but also on
the mix of outputs produced. Examining the universe of public and private four-year
institutions during the 1981–1982 academic year, they found that the average public
university had already exhausted ray economies of scale, while the average private
university could increase its output 600% and still enjoy decreasing costs per unit.
Interestingly, their product-specific findings suggest that public universities could
increase graduate enrollment and research production without incurring prohibitive
costs, while private universities did not enjoy economies of scale in either of those
domains. Beyond being the first researchers to employ a model that accounted for the
multiple production processes occurring within higher education, Cohn and col-
leagues also provided evidence that public and private four-year institutions have
different cost structures, and, as such, should be modeled independently.
Laband and Lentz (2003) attempted to replicate Cohn et al.’s (1989) work
utilizing more recent data. They also found differences in the cost structure between
public and private four-year universities, suggesting that researcher should model
cost functions for private and public institutions independently. Moreover, Laband
and Letnz’s findings suggest that ray economies of scale exist through 600% of the
mean levels of output for private institutions. However, their results diverged
considerably from Cohn et al.’s (1989) within the private sector, as Laband and
Lentz (2003) found that product-specific economies of scale exist for undergraduate
education and research. They argued that the discrepancies in the private sector
findings may stem from the inclusion of approximately 800 more institutions, many
of which were smaller institutions engaged in less research than the average private
institution in Cohn et al.’s (1989) sample.
Although the two prior studies are impressive in their scope, the rest of the cost
function literature instead focuses on more homogeneous higher education institu-
tions. For instance, de Groot et al. (1991) investigated the cost structure of
147 research universities using data from the early 1980s. Employing a translog
rather than a quadratic functional form, the authors noted considerable economies of
scale for the average institution in the production of both teaching and research.
392 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Interestingly, in direct opposition to Cohn et al. (1989) and Laband and Lents
(2003), they found that public and private four-year colleges had similar cost
structures. Their findings were corroborated by Koshal and Koshal (1995) who
studied a similar subset of research universities utilizing data from 1990–1991. Of
note in both studies is the attempt to control for differences in quality between
institutions. Both studies used a reputation measure as a proxy of institutional
quality, while Koshal and Koshal (1995) also included the average SAT score of
incoming students to mitigate concerns of varying levels of quality.
In more recent work, Sav (2004) examined the cost-output relationship across a
number of higher education sectors.. Among research universities, he found evi-
dence to suggest that public research universities do not enjoy ray economies scale at
the mean levels of output. The opposite was true in the private non-profit sector,
while both types of institutions enjoyed product-specific economies of scale in the
production of professional students and research. In opposition to the other findings
on research universities presented, Sav’s (2004) results suggest the production of
graduate education in the public sector was experiencing diseconomies of scale,
while only public research universities were enjoying economies of scale in under-
graduate instruction. In an update to his 2004 paper, Sav (2011) again employs a
flexible fixed cost quadratic approach, but instead examined cost functions over time
utilizing a fixed-effects panel data estimation strategy. His results differ markedly
from all prior work on research institutions, as they suggest the existence of
diseconomies of scale for every product-specific output and only ray economies of
scale at the mean levels of output.
In an examination of over 325 comprehensive colleges and universities, Koshal
and Koshal (1999) found that larger comprehensive master’s institutions enjoy ray
economies of scale, while the estimates for product-specific economies of scale were
mixed. For example, their work suggests that there are economies of scale for
research at private comprehensive universities, yet constant returns to scale for
their public counterparts. Differences between public and private comprehensive
institutions also exist in the production of graduate education, with publics enjoying
economies of scale at all simulated output levels and privates only experiencing
economies of scale at and beyond the 250% level of output. Notably, the authors
found that class size has a statistically significant effect on total costs. In related work
on comprehensive institutions by Sav (2004), Koshal and Koshal’s (1999) ray
economies of scale conclusions are generally corroborated. Sav (2004) also found
that public comprehensives are by and large operating within the economies of scale
region for all product-specific outputs. Finally, his results suggest that private
comprehensive universities experience diseconomies of scale at the current mean
output.
Researchers have also examined the cost structure of private liberal arts colleges
(Getz et al., 1991; Koshal & Koshal, 2000) and religiously affiliated institutions
(Koshal et al., 2001). In both settings, Koshal and colleagues found evidence to
suggest that these smaller institutions can experience cost savings from scale
economies\ across all outputs produced. Given the higher rates of closures in these
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 393

smaller private non-profit institutions, it would seem imperative that these colleges
take advantage of scale economies whenever possible.
The literature on the economies of scale in the two-year sector is sparse. Within
the U.S. context, Sav (2004, 2011) curiously treated associate colleges as multi-
product institutions that are engaged in the dual missions of teaching and research.
Even though the product-specific evidence is inconsistent across the two studies, he
found that two-year institutions enjoy ray economies of scale at the mean levels of
output. Lenton (2008) examined economies of scale within the two-year sector in the
U.S. and the United Kingdom. Her results suggest that vocational coursework is the
most efficient form of undergraduate instruction in both countries, while ray econ-
omies of scale exist in both settings, which she suggests should lead policymakers to
invest more heavily in the two-year sector.
Although not the focus of our review, two portions of this literature remain
relatively unexplored: the cost structure of academic departments and the recent
proliferation of international cost function studies. The cost function literature
focusing on academic departments has not been updated for over 20 years (Dundar
& Lewis, 1995; Lewis & Dundar, 1995; Nelson & Hevert, 1992; Tierney, 1980;
Verry & Davies, 1976). Generally, this body of research suggests that (1) marginal
costs increase with the level of instruction; (2) marginal and average costs are higher
for science and engineering students; and (3) class size needs to be included as a cost
shifter in any cost function estimate. The comparative work on the cost structure of
higher education institutions outside of the U.S. varies as much as one might expect,
given the country-specific contexts. Broadly, however, it seems that many higher
education systems are currently enjoying economies of scale and could benefit from
increased teaching and research efforts (Hashimoto & Cohn, 1997; Johnes, 1996,
1997, 1998; Johnes & Schwarzenberger, 2011; Manum, 2012; Rufino, 2006).

8.3.4 Economies of Scope Findings

While the prior section focused on the scale of production in higher education, in this
section we turn our attention to the economies that arise as a result of the joint
production of outputs. In other words, the estimation of economies of scope deter-
mines whether there are cost advantages associated with producing two or more
outputs (e.g., teaching and research) at the same time. As discussed earlier, these
relationships are referred to as global and product-specific economies of scope.
Cohn et al. (1989) as well as Laband and Lentz (2003) found evidence to suggest
that public and private four-year institutions enjoy economies of scope. In fact, Cohn
et al. (1989) argued that “complex IHEs, involving undergraduate and graduate
teaching, as well as research, may be more efficient than IHEs specializing in only
one (or two) of these missions” (p. 289). The findings from Laband and Lentz (2003)
broadly support this conclusion; however, their results suggest that private colleges
and universities experience diseconomies of scope within undergraduate and grad-
uate instruction at approximately 300% and 150% of their output means.
394 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Those studies focusing exclusively on research universities generally report

global economies of scope for the average institution as well (de Groot et al.,
1991; Dundar & Lewis, 1995; Sav, 2004, 2011). In thinking about which higher
education production processes are complementary, de Groot and associates (1991)
found that economies of scope exist between graduate and undergraduate education.
They argue that these cost savings arise from the role that graduate students play in
undergraduate instruction. These results were corroborated by Dundar and Lewis’s
(1995) study of academic departments within research universities. Moreover, they
find that economies of scope exist between all teaching and research outputs, across
the social and physical sciences, as well as in schools of engineering. Sav (2004)
reported results that contradict these findings. He concluded that scope diseconomies
exist across all outputs in public research universities, while scope economies exist
at the mean level of output for undergraduate and professional student instruction.
Koshal and Koshal’s (1999) findings suggest that public and private comprehen-
sive universities could enjoy increased cost savings from the global economies of
scope found at almost all levels of production.. That said, it seems that public and
private comprehensives experienced constant returns or diseconomies of scope in the
production of undergraduate instruction. Sav (2004) also explored product-specific
economies of scope within this sector and found that the results vary substantially by
geographic region.
Koshal and colleagues (Koshal & Koshal, 2000; Koshal et al., 2001) found that
private liberal arts and religiously affiliated colleges can save costs by jointly
producing undergraduate instruction, graduate instruction, and research. These sav-
ings were large and remained throughout 300% of the mean outputs, suggesting that
these smaller colleges could increase production significantly across the board and
still enjoy the cost savings afforded through scope economies.

8.4 Data and Methodology

8.4.1 Data

The primary dataset that we used in this study was provided by the Delta Cost
Project (DCP). The DCP dataset contains selected institution-level data assembled
from the various surveys reported to the federal government through the Integrated
Postsecondary Education Data System (IPEDS). One of the main advantages of the
DCP data is that financial data have been reconciled between public and private
institutions, making it easier to directly compare and contrast the two sectors. We
omitted from the sample all institutions that aggregate their financial data across
multiple campuses and report it for only one campus (Jaquette & Parra, 2014). We
restricted the analysis to public and private not-for-profit institutions at the associate,
bachelor, master and doctoral levels. Institutions were dropped from the analysis if
they had fewer than 100 students, average faculty salaries below $20,000 or above
$250,000, or had a medical school. After eliminating a few specialized institutions
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 395

and other institutions without financial data on the variables in question, our final
samples consisted of 777 two-year (associate) institutions, 377 four-year teaching-
oriented institutions, and 519 four-year research-oriented institutions. The institu-
tional categories were derived from the 2000 Carnegie classification scheme.5
Output Variables For the purpose of treating colleges and universities as single-
product organizations, we defined instructional output as the combined full-time
equivalent enrollments at the undergraduate and graduate levels (QFTE). Subse-
quently for the models where institutions were viewed as multi-product firms we
defined two separate output variables for graduate and undergraduate headcounts
(Qg and Qu, respectively).
With regard to research, we used number of publications as a measure of an
institution’s research output (QR). The number of publications for each institution
was found using the methodology outlined by Toutkoushian, Porter, Danielson, and
Hollis (2003). As such, we count publications that were indexed in three primary
sources: the Science Citation Index, the Social Sciences Citation Index, and the Arts
and Humanities Citation Index. All of these were made available through the Web of
Science, which is the largest online repository of publications. We limited our search
to articles published in academic journals during the 2013 calendar year.
To obtain publication counts for each institution, we identified those articles where
one or more authors were affiliated with a given institution at the time of publication.
Because institutions sometimes go by the same name and satellite campuses may be
mistakenly affiliated with their main campus, we also included city and zip code
information retrieved from IPEDS to delimit the search. Thus, only those citations
affiliated with a given institution name and its appropriate zip code or city name were
included in each school’s publication count. Moreover, while there may be concerns that
author names or institutional affiliations might be missing from some citations, Web of
Science guarantees the inclusion of all authors and their institutional affiliations through
proactive validation with authors and institutions. That said, our approach is still limited
in a few ways. For instance, those authors who collaborate within their institution will
only have that publication counted once towards their school’s total, as we did not weight
each publication by the number of authors from a given institution. Moreover, while our
three indices cover a substantial portion of all academic journals, there were some that are
not included and, as such, are not reflected in our publication counts. Finally, other forms
of publication like books, book reviews, and editorial materials were not included in our
estimates, which might penalize institutions with a large focus on the arts or humanities.

5
The Carnegie classifications were based on number of degrees awarded by level and research
dollars. Two-year associate institutions were defined as having a Carnegie classification code of
40 (“Associate’s Colleges”). Four-year teaching-oriented institutions had a Carnegie classification
code of either 31 (“Baccalaureate Colleges – Liberal Arts”), 32 (“Baccalaureate Colleges –
General”), or 33 (“Baccalaureate/Associate’s Colleges”). Four-year research-oriented institutions
had a Carnegie classification code of either 15 (“Doctoral/Research Universities – Extensive”),
16 (“Doctoral/Research Universities – Intensive”), 21 (“Master’s Colleges and Universities I”), or
22 (“Master’s Colleges and Universities II”).
396 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Dependent Variables The dependent variable for most of the statistical models
was the total cost or expenditures for the institution. Total cost included operating
and non-operating expenditures and depreciation at the institution. For the single-
product models, where we also estimated the average cost, the dependent variable
for average cost was obtained by dividing total cost by the combined FTE enroll-
ments. It should be noted that the annual costs for higher education institutions
exclude some expenditures on fixed cost such as classrooms, laboratories, land, and
other facilities. Accordingly, the values that we use understate the true total costs
needed for colleges to provide higher education services, and in particular omit some
fixed costs associated with postsecondary education.
Control Variables We created a number of control variables that theory suggests
may lead to shifts in the total cost curves. First, we included a variable in the models
for input prices based on the average salary of full-time faculty. Geographic mea-
sures for the region of the country and whether the institution was located in an urban
or rural area were used to capture possible cost-of-living differences across institu-
tions. We relied on two variables – the 75th percentile of SAT mathematics scores6
of students and the percentage of applicants who were admitted – to represent the
quality of student inputs at four-year institutions since the cost of educating students
may vary with their academic quality. Finally, we considered a number of institu-
tional variables that the literature suggests also affect institutional costs. These
factors include the percentage of graduates in STEM fields (science, technology,
engineering, mathematics) where instructional costs are typically higher, the per-
centage of students enrolled part-time, whether the institution is public or private,
and the extent to which students take online courses. Table 8.2 provides more
information on each of the variables used in our analysis.
Table 8.3 contains the means for these variables for two-year (associate) institu-
tions. Because two-year institutions are not engaged in graduate education or
research, these particular measures are not reported in the table. It can be seen that
the average total expenditure for these institutions was $53.9 million, which roughly
translates into $11,613 per student.
Table 8.4 provides similar descriptive statistics for four-year teaching-oriented
institutions. The results show that when viewed as a single-product organization,
their average total cost per student is much higher ($27,000) than for two-year
institutions. Although some of these institutions enrolled graduate students, the
vast majority of enrollments were at the undergraduate level. Similarly, the level
of research productivity at these institutions was substantially lower than for
research-oriented institutions. Nonetheless, two-thirds reported having some gradu-
ate students and nearly three-fourths had at least one publication in 2013, which
might be an argument for treating them as multi-product organizations.
Finally, Table 8.5 shows the descriptive statistics for four-year research-oriented
institutions. On average, expenditures per student ($25,000) were similar to

6
We only used mathematics scores due to its high correlation with reading scores.
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 397

Table 8.2 Variable descriptions

Variable Description
Total cost Total expenditures at the institution. Includes operating, nonoperating, and
deductions
FTE students Total full-time equivalent students. Includes undergraduate and graduate
students
Undergrads Headcount of undergraduate students in Fall 2012
Grads Headcount of graduate students in Fall 2012
Publications Number of publications in academic journals in 2013
Avg. salary Average faculty salary in thousands of dollars. Includes full-time faculty at
the full, associate, and assistant ranks.
FTE  S Interaction of FTE students and average faculty salary
UP Interaction of undergraduate students and publications
GP Interaction of graduate students and publications
UG Interaction of undergraduate and graduate students
US Interaction of undergraduate students and average faculty salary
GS Interaction of graduate students and average faculty salary
PS Interaction of publications and average faculty salary
New England 1 if OBE region ¼ New England
Mideast 1 if OBE region ¼ Mideast
Great Lakes 1 if OBE region ¼ Great Lakes
Southeast 1 if OBE region ¼ Southeast [reference]
Plains 1 if OBE region ¼ Plains
Southwest 1 if OBE region ¼ Southwest
Rocky 1 if OBE region ¼ Rocky Mountains
Mountains
Far West 1 if OBE region ¼ Far West
Urban 1 if located in an urban area (codes 11, 12, 13)
Rural 1 if located in a rural area (codes 41, 42, 43)
Other region 1 if located in all other areas [reference]
Pct part-time Percentage of all students (undergraduate þ graduate) who are enrolled part-
students time
Pct no distance Percent of undergraduate students who are not enrolled in any distance
Ed education classes at the institution
Public 1 if public institution, 0 if private not-for-profit institution
Pct STEM Percentage of total degrees in STEM fields
degrees
Acceptance rate Percentage of undergraduate applicants who are admitted
SAT 75th 75th percentile of SAT / ACT math scores for undergraduates
percentile
Any graduate 1 if enroll any graduate students, 0 otherwise
students
Any undergrads 1 if enroll any undergraduate students, 0 otherwise [reference]
Any publications 1 if produce any publications, 0 otherwise
Notes: All data are for the 2012–2013 year unless otherwise noted. Concordance table was used to
convert ACT scores to SAT equivalent scores when the majority of students reported taking the
ACT
398 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Table 8.3 Descriptive statistics – twoyear institutions

Standard
Variable Mean deviation Minimum Maximum
Total cost 53,900,000 50,600,000 1,201,311 442,000,000
Student FTE 4641 4978 98 53,787
Avg. salary ($1000s) 55.09 12 21 106
FTE  S (students  Avg. salary) 277,874 329,996 4223 3,262,236
New England 0.05 0.23 0 1
Mideast 0.12 0.32 0 1
Great Lakes 0.14 0.35 0 1
Plains 0.10 0.30 0 1
Southwest 0.12 0.33 0 1
Rocky Mountains 0.04 0.20 0 1
Far West 0.14 0.35 0 1
Urban 0.32 0.47 0 1
Rural 0.24 0.42 0.00 1
Pct part-time students 54.62 15.86 0.34 92
Pct no distance Ed 69.90 17.01 2.00 100
Public 0.92 0.28 0 1
Pct STEM degrees 15.34 13.55 0 90
Notes: Sample size ¼ 777. All data were retrieved from the Delta Cost Project except for the
variable “Pct Students in No Distance Education Classes” (IPEDS). All data are for the 2013
academic year. Institutions were omitted from the sample if they (a) had a medical school, (b) were a
for-profit institution, (c) had average faculty salaries below $25,000 or above $250,000, (d) had
fewer than 100 students, or (e) reported data to IPEDS for multiple institutions (“Parent-child”
problem)

teaching-oriented institutions. As can be seen in the data, almost all of these

institutions were actively involved in undergraduate education, graduate education
and research.

8.4.2 Methods

Using these data, we estimated a series of cost equations to determine whether there
are economies of scale and scope in higher education. We organized the models
according to type of institution, and thus report separate results for two-year insti-
tutions, four-year teaching-oriented institutions, and four-year research-oriented
institutions. In all instances, we used ordinary least squares regression to obtain
estimated coefficients. To help account for possible heteroscedasticity, robust stan-
dard errors were used in each model and reported in the subsequent tables.
Beginning with the two-year institutions, we considered them to be single-
product organizations and used combined FTE enrollments as our measure of output.
The models are summarized as follows:
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 399

Table 8.4 Descriptive statistics – four-year teaching-oriented institutions

Standard
Variable Mean deviation Minimum Maximum
Total cost 51,500,000 39,600,000 2,590,442 245,000,000
Student FTE 1901 1442 187 17,179
Avg. salary ($1000s) 59.64 15 27 108
FTE  S (Students  Avg. 119,302 97,905 6017 901,228
salary)
Undergrads 1900 1675 131 23,019
Grads 155 261 0 1786
Publications 13.25 24 0 165
U  P (Undergrads  Pubs) 34,276 80,385 0 805,665
G  P (Grads  Pubs) 2238 10,220 0 150,960
U  G (Undergrads  Grads) 396,917 918,011 0 PxS8,332,878
U  S (Undergrad  Avg. 118,301 106,259 6371 1,207,600
salary)
G  S (Grads  Avg. salary) 9562 17,160 0 133,318
P  S (Pubs  Avg. salary) 1038 2188 0 16,039
New England 0.05 0.22 0 1
Mideast 0.16 0.36 0 1
Great Lakes 0.17 0.37 0 1
Plains 0.16 0.37 0 1
Southwest 0.05 0.21 0 1
Rocky Mountains 0.02 0.15 0 1
Far West 0.07 0.25 0 1
Urban 0.34 0.47 0 1
Rural 0.09 0.29 0 1
Acceptance rate 61.59 18.48 9 100
SAT 75th percentile 575 72 400 770
Pct. part-time students 14.46 14 0 70
Pct. no distance Ed 88.56 16 27 100
Public 0.12 0 0 1
Pct. STEM degrees 26.00 18 0 86
Any graduate students 0.66 0 0 1
Any publications 0.73 0 0 1
Notes: Sample size ¼ 377. All data were retrieved from the Delta Cost Project except for the
variable “Pct Students in No Distance Education Classes” (IPEDS). All data are for the 2013
academic year. Institutions were omitted from the sample if they (a) had a medical school, (b) were a
for-profit institution, (c) had average faculty salaries below $25,000 or above $250,000, (d) had
fewer than 100 students, or (e) reported data to IPEDS for multiple institutions (“Parent-child”
problem)
 400

Table 8.5 Descriptive statistics – four-year research-oriented institutions

Variable Mean Standard deviation Minimum Maximum
Total cost 167,000,000 200,000,000 4,711,481 2,400,000,000
Undergrads 6684 6559 179 51,010
Grads 1631 1733 0 14,954
Publications 116.49 405.34 0 6761
Avg. salary ($1000s) 66.82 13.79 36 128
Any graduate students 0.998 0.04 0 1
Any publications 0.940 0.24 0 1
U  P (Undergrads  Pubs) 2,122,818 10,300,000 0 1.74E þ 08
G  P (Grads  Pubs) 564,903 3,450,351 0 6.84E þ 07
U  G (Undergrads  Grads) 18,400,000 41,900,000 0 4.38E þ 08
U  S (Undergrad  Avg. salary) 479,409 533,049 6626.042 3.83E þ 06
G  S (Grads  Avg. salary) 120,133 152,004 0 1,297,853
P  S (Pubs  Avg. salary) 10,274 46,020 0 867,159
New England 0.08 0.26 0 1
Mideast 0.19 0.39 0 1
Great Lakes 0.16 0.37 0 1
Plains 0.09 0.28 0 1
Southwest 0.09 0.29 0 1
Rocky Mountains 0.03 0.16 0 1
Far West 0.12 0.32 0 1
Urban 0.50 0.50 0 1
R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee
Rural 0.03 0.16 0 1
Acceptance rate 65.67 15.70 16.70521 99.45999
SAT 75th percentile 570 53 430 780
Pct part-time students 25.76 13.59 1 81
Pct no distance Ed 80.51 16.53 21 100
Public 0.50 0.50 0 1
Pct STEM degrees 21.68 15.59 0 94
Notes: Sample size ¼ All data were retrieved from the Delta Cost Project except for the variable “Pct Students in No Distance Education Classes” (IPEDS). All
data are for the 2013 academic year. Institutions were omitted from the sample if they (a) had a medical school, (b) were a for-profit institution, (c) had average
faculty salaries below $25,000 or above $250,000, (d) had fewer than 100 students, or (e) reported data to IPEDS for multiple institutions (“Parent-child”
problem)
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education
401
402 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

TC ¼ α0 þ α1 Q þ α2 Q2 þ β1 P þ β2 P2 þ α5 QxP þ Xθ þ u ð8:20Þ
TC ¼ α0 þ α1 Q þ α2 Q2 þ α3 Q3 þ β1 P þ Xθ þ u ð8:21Þ
AC ¼ α0 þ α1 Q þ α2 Q2 þ β1 P þ Xθ þ u ð8:22Þ

where X ¼ additional cost curve shifters including geographic region, urbanicity,

whether public or private, percent students who are part-time, percent students
majoring in STEM fields, and percent classes not taught via distance education.
The first model corresponds to the Baumol/Panzer/Willig specification where total
costs are a quadratic function of output, and output is interacted with prices. The
second equation is a modified version of the first, where total costs are modeled as a
cubic function of output and the interaction term with price is dropped. Finally, the
third model specifies average costs as a quadratic function of output.
For four-year teaching-oriented institutions, we estimated similar cost models
under the assumption that they were also single-product institutions. In addition, we
added a fourth equation based on the FFCQ formula where we treated these as multi-
product institutions. The cost curve shifters for undergraduate institutions also
included variables for the SAT 75th percentile of students and the percentage of
applicants who were admitted to the institution. It should be noted that the FFCQ
functional form includes dummy variables for the presence of graduate education
and publications, respectively, as well as interactions among the three output
measures and prices. Finally, we applied the same multi-product FFCQ model
specification to four-year research-oriented institutions.

8.5 Results

8.5.1 Two-Year Institutions

In Table 8.6, we provide the results for two-year institutions from the three regres-
sion models described in the previous section. Models (1) and (2) use total cost
(in thousands of dollars) as the dependent variable, and the last model uses cost per
student as the dependent variable. Recall that Model (1) corresponds to the specifi-
cation recommended by Baumol/Panzer/Willig, and the second model is a slight
modification where total costs are a cubic function of output. In each model,
institutions are considered to be single-product organizations where total FTE
students is the output measure of interest.
Overall, there is some evidence of cost differences due to geographic location.
Although public institutions were found to have higher total costs than similarly-
situated private institutions, the vast majority of two-year institutions are public.
Likewise, there is some evidence that total costs are positively related to the STEM
focus of institutions and the percentage of full-time students.
Turning to output, we found that in the Baumol/Panzer/Willig model total, costs
have a quadratic relationship with output. In the cubic total cost equation, however,
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 403

Table 8.6 OLS models for economies of scale – two-year institutions

(1) (2) (3)
Quadratic TC Cubic TC Quadratic AC
Student FTE 6.632*** 9.718*** 0.709***
(1.308) (0.762) (0.120)
Student FTE squared 3.7e-05*** 3.7e-07 1.4e-05***
(1.1e-05) (6.4e-05) (4.2e-06)
Student FTE cubed  5.6e-10 
(9.3e-10)
Avg. salary 221.245 243.597** 56.875**
(406.833) (77.751) (18.350)
Avg. salary squared 2.516  
(3.978)
FTE  S 0.059*  
(0.024)
New England 4188.333** 3428.774* 501.212
(1530.541) (1560.650) (688.569)
Mideast 7636.957*** 7501.862*** 791.051
(1666.881) (1724.661) (564.561)
Great Lakes 10715.127*** 10931.868*** 1544.247**
(2049.341) (2144.612) (511.471)
Plains 1815.898 1932.223 761.242
(1327.676) (1369.515) (556.175)
Southwest 602.282 516.750 227.475
(1762.506) (1762.307) (459.089)
Rocky Mountains 336.760 22.220 1978.673*
(3614.966) (3491.933) (871.700)
Far West 8585.167*** 8928.641*** 2379.130*
(2123.577) (2145.312) (1128.374)
Urban 3044.993* 2117.266 78.361
(1477.772) (1424.551) (306.873)
Rural 1509.035 1500.745 457.383
(1204.387) (1235.562) (580.207)
Pct part-time students 51.291þ 71.568* 21.306
(30.635) (32.822) (22.510)
Pct no distance Ed 8.331 16.300 22.045*
(40.384) (37.538) (10.328)
Public institution 6563.654* 5395.226* 3303.311***
(2611.076) (2371.490) (885.035)
Pct STEM degrees 68.864þ 68.689þ 4.626
(36.016) (35.377) (13.666)
(continued)
404 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Table 8.6 (continued)

(1) (2) (3)
Quadratic TC Cubic TC Quadratic AC
Constant 5246.618 11680.466** 14670.287***
(9363.023) (4211.818) (1344.214)
R-squared 0.92 0.92 0.22
Notes: Sample size ¼ 777. Robust standard errors are shown in parentheses. Dependent variable in
models (1) and (2) is total cost ($1000s), and dependent variable in model (3) is cost per FTE
student. Reference category for region is Southeast. Reference category for urbanicity is suburban
and town. þ p < .10, * p < .05, ** p < .01, *** p < .001

Table 8.7 Economies of scale calculations for two-year institutions

Pct of mean FTE enrollment Average cost Marginal cost Ratio AC to MC
Quadratic total cost function
50% $13,403 $9736 1.38
100% $11,526 $9563 1.21
200% $10,458 $9218 1.13
300% $9987 $8873 1.13
400% $9666 $8528 1.13
500% $9404 $8183 1.15
600% $9171 $7838 1.17
Cubic Total cost function
50% $13,695 $9711 1.41
100% $11,697 $9685 1.21
200% $10,668 $9580 1.11
300% $10,278 $9402 1.09
400% $10,029 $9152 1.10
500% $9822 $8829 1.11
600% $9625 $8434 1.14
Mean FTE ¼ 4641

both the squared and cubic output variables became insignificant. The average cost
curve in the last column shows that average costs at first fall with FTE enrollments
and then rise. Solving for the average cost-minimizing output level in the last
equation shows that the AC curve was minimized at approximately 25,000 students,
which is considerably larger than the typical two-year institution.7 Accordingly, the
quadratic average cost model suggests that there are economies of scale over most of
the output range for two-year institutions.
In Table 8.7, we evaluated economies of scale in the Baumol/Panzer/Willig
model by calculating the average and marginal costs at selected output levels for

7
The average cost-minimizing output was found by taking the partial derivative of average cost in
the third model with respect to enrollments, setting this derivative equal to zero, and solving for FTE
enrollments.
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 405

two-year institutions using the parameters in the first and second models in
Table 8.6. Column 2 contains the estimated average cost, column 3 the estimated
marginal cost, and then the last column shows the ratio of average to marginal cost.
Average costs were found by dividing the total cost equation by FTE enrollments
and then substituting specific enrollment levels into the resulting equation. Likewise,
marginal costs were estimated by taking the partial derivative of the total cost
equation with respect to enrollments in models (1) and (2) and then substituting
the same enrollment levels into this equation.8 It can be shown from the results that
for these institutions, the resulting statistics do not vary substantially when total costs
are modeled as a quadratic or cubic function of output. In each instance, we found
that for a wide range of output the average cost for two-year institutions exceeded
their marginal cost, which is consistent with the notion of economies of scale.

8.5.2 Four-Year Teaching-Oriented Institutions

We now turn to the results for four-year teaching-oriented institutions. In Table 8.8
we present the coefficient estimates from four alternative regression models. In
models (1), (2) and (4) total cost (in thousands of dollars) was used as the dependent
variable, and the third model used average cost as the dependent variable. Models
(1), (2) and (3) are identical to the three models we estimated for two-year institu-
tions, except that the total cost shifters also included variables for the SAT score
(75th percentile) for students and the percentage of applicants who were admitted. In
each of these three models, we treated four-year undergraduate institutions as single-
product organizations where total FTE students was the measure of output. In
addition, the last model in the table assumes that four-year undergraduate institutions
are multi-product organizations that produce undergraduate education, graduate
education, and research publications. Thus we replaced the aggregate FTE output
variable with separate variables for the undergraduate headcount, graduate
headcount, and number of publications. We also added dummy variables for the
presence of graduate education and publications, and interacted the three output
measures with each other and with average faculty salary.
Interestingly, in Table 8.8 we found that the geographic differences in total cost
for four-year teaching-oriented institutions were often opposite in sign from what we
observed for two-year institutions, with cost being lower in the Rocky Mountain and
Far West regions relative to the Southeast. Total costs were positive associated with
the academic quality of students as represented by the 75th percentile of SAT scores
and the acceptance rate at the institution. We found that total costs were higher for
institutions that enrolled a greater share of full-time students, and unlike two-year
institutions we found no difference in total costs for public and private four-year

8
The marginal cost equation for model (1), for example, is therefore written as: ∂TC/
∂Q ¼ 6.632 þ (2)(0.000037)Q þ 0.059 ∗ AvgSal, where AvgSal ¼ average faculty salary.
406 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Table 8.8 OLS models for economies of scale – four-year teaching-oriented institutions
(1) (2) (3) (4)
Quadratic TC Cubic TC Quadratic AC Multi product
Student FTE 1.70 19.38*** 4.89*** 
(5.56) (2.40) (0.77)
Student FTE squared 5.5e-04*** 2.2e-04 2.5e-04*** 
(8.8e-05) (5.1e-04) (4.9e-05)
Student FTE cubed  1.8e-08  
(2.3e-08)
Avg. salary 1793.69*** 997.52*** 527.73*** 227.38
(356.43) (125.50) (46.98) (472.75)
Avg. salary squared 17.14***   1.38
(3.21) (4.48)
FTE x S 0.33***   
(0.09)
New England 4281.70 7339.93 2431.86 3173.07
(4428.28) (5664.43) (2251.63) (3479.65)
Mideast 1649.01 318.71 241.37 74.58
(2799.74) (3247.11) (1183.20) (2250.34)
Great Lakes 919.39 2337.47 1672.06þ 1935.95
(1989.06) (2404.16) (948.37) (1770.57)
Plains 3803.62* 3752.57þ 2259.78* 4285.15**
(1659.58) (2130.41) (949.43) (1537.20)
Southwest 2008.97 561.28 95.89 790.03
(1824.13) (3572.79) (1975.71) (1552.06)
Rocky Mountains 6673.45* 8729.36* 3094.00 7435.92*
(3218.58) (3887.88) (2140.95) (3066.66)
Far West 8659.92** 9511.39* 814.84 9494.55**
(3205.70) (4182.18) (2897.74) (3269.13)
Urban 869.47 917.07 580.86 203.04
(1312.62) (1605.99) (889.00) (1332.94)
Rural 2206.44 437.12 858.35 1766.68
(1998.69) (2532.12) (1066.75) (2007.20)
Acceptance rate 149.65*** 325.61*** 99.20** 144.30***
(40.80) (49.92) (33.04) (38.85)
SAT 75th Pct 82.34*** 101.91*** 38.02*** 43.22**
(15.02) (17.50) (8.85) (13.77)
Pct part-time students 220.97*** 286.10*** 114.75*** 389.89***
(59.54) (66.01) (30.15) (74.34)
Pct no distance Ed 31.32 4.55 6.63 11.83
(47.62) (62.11) (26.77) (48.55)
(continued)
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 407

Table 8.8 (continued)

(1) (2) (3) (4)
Quadratic TC Cubic TC Quadratic AC Multi product
Public institution 2141.96 837.93 634.49 3671.93
(2757.70) (3149.92) (1198.16) (2999.90)
Pct. STEM degrees 102.27* 58.80 87.20*** 17.36
(51.59) (65.43) (25.72) (47.39)
Any graduate students    1641.20
(1363.08)
Any publications    2592.38
(1814.63)
Undergrads    8.49þ
(4.55)
Undergrads squared    0.00***
(0.00)
Grads    32.54*
(16.26)
Grads squared    0.01
(0.00)
Publications    553.11
(413.16)
Publications squared    5.20***
(1.53)
UP    0.22**
(0.08)
GP    0.15
(0.20)
UG    0.00*
(0.00)
US    0.14þ
(0.08)
GS    0.05
(0.27)
PS    12.45*
(5.52)
Constant 16331.79 7.8e þ 04*** 1.2e þ 04* 1.1e þ 04
(11965.21) (10392.33) (4800.48) (12715.46)
R-squared 0.91 0.87 0.76 0.93
Notes: Sample size ¼ 377. Robust standard errors are shown in parentheses. Dependent variable in
models (1) through (3) is total cost, and dependent variable in model (4) is cost per FTE student.
Reference category for region is Southeast. Reference category for urbanicity is suburban and town.
þ p < .10, * p < .05, ** p < .01, ***p < .001
408 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Table 8.9 Economies of scale calculations for four-year teaching-oriented institutions

Pct of Mean FTE Enrollment Average cost Marginal cost Ratio AC to MC
Quadratic total cost function
50% $33,831 $20,051 1.69
100% $26,681 $19,009 1.40
200% $22,324 $16,926 1.32
300% $20,178 $14,843 1.36
400% $18,584 $12,760 1.46
500% $17,210 $10,676 1.61
600% $15,948 $8593 1.86
Cubic total cost function
50% $36,524 $18,908 1.93
100% $27,578 $18,338 1.50
200% $22,615 $16,899 1.34
300% $20,415 $15,064 1.36
400% $18,806 $12,832 1.47
500% $17,355 $10,204 1.70
600% $15,917 $7178 2.22
Mean FTE ¼ 1901

teaching-oriented institutions. When we treated four-year teaching-oriented institu-

tions as single-product firms, the results showed a quadratic relationship between
output and average cost, with an average cost-minimizing output level of about
10,000 students. This output level is about five times as large as the average four-
year teaching-oriented institution, and thus the results show that there are economies
of scale for the vast majority of these institutions.
In Table 8.9, we provide estimates of economies of scale for four-year teaching-
oriented institutions using the Baumol/Panzer/Willig approach under the assumption
that they are single-product organizations. The table is organized in the same way as
Table 8.7 for two-year institutions. Once again, we found that average costs were
consistently higher than marginal costs regardless of whether we used a quadratic or
cubic total cost function. Accordingly, the evidence suggests that there are econo-
mies of scale over a broad range of output for four-year teaching-oriented institutions
when they were viewed as single-product organizations.
The results changed, however, when we treated four-year teaching-oriented
institutions as multi-product firms. Table 8.10 shows our results for the economies
of scale (ray and product-specific) and economies of scope (global and product-
specific) calculations. Beginning with ray economies of scale in the first row, we
found that there were initially economies of scale from increasing all outputs
proportionately, but that they disappeared once outputs had doubled from their
means. With regard to economies of scale for each output, the results show that
average incremental costs fell as each single output increased, holding the other two
constant. The only exceptions to this rule were at below-average output levels for
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 409

Table 8.10 Summary of economies of scale and scope – four-year teaching-oriented institutions
Percent of output
Metric 50% 100% 200% 300% 400%
Ray EOS 1.46 1.16 0.95 0.83 0.73
EOS – Undergrads (U) 1.03 1.04 1.09 1.10 1.13
AIC (U) $18,203 $16,994 $15,180 $12,762 $10,343
MC (U) $17,598 $16,389 $13,971 $11,552 $9134
EOS – Grads (G) 0.07 1.03 1.06 1.07 1.08
AIC (G) $1622 $21,652 $20,014 $17,830 $15,647
MC (G) $22,198 $21,106 $18,922 $16,739 $14,555
EOS – Publications (R) 0.37 1.07 1.19 1.31 1.84
AIC (R) $208,786 $530,970 $427,498 $289,536 $151,574
MC (R) $565,460 $496,479 $358,517 $220,555 $82,593
Economies of scope: 50% 100% 200% 300% 400%
Global 0.79 0.46 0.22 0.13 0.07
Undergrads 0.47 0.20 0.02 0.04 0.07
Grads 1.02 0.31 0.15 0.32 0.39
Publications 0.76 0.12 0.32 0.50 0.61

graduate education and research, which could possibly be attributable to the fixed
costs associated with each.
Turning to economies of scope, the evidence suggests that there are cost savings
from the joint production of undergraduate education, graduate education, and
research. On an output-specific basis, however, we noted that each output initially
had economies of scope followed by diseconomies of scope beginning around 200%
of each mean output level.

8.5.3 Four-Year Research-Oriented Institutions

Lastly, we focused our attention on four-year research-oriented institutions in

Tables 8.11 and 8.12. Table 8.11 provides the results from the total cost equation
for these institutions. We only present findings from the multi-product model in this
case because almost all of these institutions are involved in all three activities
considered here. In this model, we found no evidence of geographic cost differences
across institutions. Costs were still higher for institutions that were more selective in
admissions, had fewer part-time students, or were less involved in distance educa-
tion. Finally, we saw no difference in total costs for public and private institutions
after controlling for the three output measures and other total cost shifters.
The last table presents the findings for economies of scale and scope for four-year
research-oriented institutions. Overall, these institutions exhibited ray economies of
410 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Table 8.11 OLS model for economies of scale – four-year research-oriented institutions
(1)
Quadratic TC
Any graduate students 13487.09*
(6076.07)
Any publications 7579.69þ
(4286.81)
Undergrads 6.38
(3.93)
Undergrads squared 6.7e-05
(1.0e-04)
Grads 20.20
(14.14)
Grads squared 1.5e-03***
(2.9e-04)
Publications 424.23*
(183.02)
Publications squared 0.03
(0.02)
Avg. salary 1445.14
(900.82)
Avg. salary squared 10.25
(7.75)
UxP 4.5e-03
(3.5e-03)
GxP 0.04**
(0.01)
UxG 1.8e-03**
(7.0e-04)
UxS 0.11*
(0.05)
GxS 0.27
(0.20)
PxS 1.54
(1.56)
New England 4289.79
(5914.00)
Mideast 6369.88
(5245.90)
Great Lakes 13151.26*
(5912.11)
Plains 3089.00
(4705.15)
Southwest 2326.70
(continued)
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 411

Table 8.11 (continued)

(1)
Quadratic TC
(5333.93)
Rocky Mountains 7776.66
(16337.41)
Far West 1.1e þ 04
(7198.71)
Urban 812.25
(3232.42)
Rural 4685.14
(7187.40)
Acceptance rate 269.20**
(91.23)
SAT 75th Pct 71.67
(45.39)
Pct part-time students 1246.28***
(140.24)
Pct no distance Ed 224.79*
(100.71)
Public institution 1094.65
(7860.73)
Pct STEM degrees 180.34
(172.59)
Constant 36961.75
(34284.37)
R-squared 0.97
Notes: Sample size ¼ 519. Robust standard errors are shown in parentheses. Dependent variable is
total cost. Reference category for region is Southeast. Reference category for urbanicity is suburban
and town. þ p < .10, * p < .05, ** p < .01, *** p < .001

scale up to a four-fold proportional increase in all three outputs. Interestingly,

undergraduate education was found to have slight diseconomies of scale as the
number of undergraduate students increased holding the other two outputs constant.
However, the average incremental costs and marginal costs were fairly close over
this range. Graduate education showed stronger product-specific economies of scale,
while research had slight economies of scale (though average incremental costs were
again very close to marginal costs). For economies of scope, the evidence suggests
that there were slight economies of scope from the joint production of undergraduate
education, graduate education, and research, and yet for each output considered
separately the economies of scope eventually gave way to diseconomies of scope as
outputs were doubled.
412 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Table 8.12 Summary of economies of scale and scope –four-year research-oriented institutions
Percent of output
Metric 50% 100% 200% 300% 400%
Ray EOS 1.13 1.12 1.10 1.09 1.08
EOS – Undergrads (U) 0.98 0.98 0.96 0.97 0.97
AIC (U) $10,590 $11,039 $11,712 $12,610 $13,508
MC (U) $10,814 $11,263 $12,161 $13,059 $13,957
EOS – Grads (G) 1.64 1.05 1.11 1.15 1.21
AIC (G) $45,599 $26,673 $23,110 $18,360 $13,610
MC (G) $27,860 $25,485 $20,735 $15,985 $11,235
EOS – Publications (R) 0.63 1.01 1.01 1.01 1.01
AIC (R) $220,395 $346,646 $340,813 $333,035 $325,258
MC (R) $348,590 $344,701 $336,924 $329,147 $321,369
Economies of scope: 50% 100% 200% 300% 400%
Global 0.01 0.04 0.07 0.08 0.08
Undergrads 0.68 0.13 0.14 0.21 0.24
Grads 0.65 0.00 0.35 0.48 0.56
Publications 0.58 0.10 0.44 0.55 0.61

8.6 Summary and Discussion

In this study, we reviewed the different approaches used by higher education

researchers and economists to assess economies of scale and scope in higher
education. The distinction between treating colleges as single-product or multi-
product organizations is important because this drives the methodological approach
needed for this assessment. We showed that although the multi-product approach
allows for more flexibility in how to evaluate economies of scale and scope, and is
arguably a better reflection of how many colleges operate, this leads to much greater
complexity in how to measure economies of scale and scope.
Our reexamination of economies of scale using more current data for the US
showed that regardless of the approach used, the results suggest that there are cost
savings from expanding higher education output to reasonable output levels. This
finding is consistent with the idea that there are sizable fixed costs in higher
education production that can be distributed over more units of output as an
institution increases in size. Although the quadratic average cost curve specification
leads to a cleaner identification of where economies of scale exist, the specification
can only be used when colleges are assumed to be single-product organizations and
thus only applies to a small subset of the postsecondary industry. The results are
mixed with regard to economies of scope, with some evidence pointing to cost
savings from the joint production of outputs and other evidence pointing towards
inefficiencies. Interestingly, our findings were not substantially affected by whether
we specified total costs as a quadratic or cubic function of output. This would
suggest that the simpler (quadratic) specification is sufficient when the main focus
8 Revisiting Economies of Scale and Scope in Higher Education 413

of the study is on assessing economies of scale and scope. Alternatively, if the

researcher is more interested in having a cost function that is consistent with the
textbook treatment of cost curves, then there is no disadvantage to adding cubic
terms to the cost function.
The notion of economies of scale and scope are very important for governmental
planning purposes for their higher education systems. States and nations have to
make decisions about how to structure their public postsecondary education systems.
How many institutions do they need, and how large should they be? Our findings of
significant economies of scale suggest that there are efficiency gains from having
fewer, but larger, institutions to serve the needs of society. This is in contrast,
however, to how many state higher education systems are organized where smaller
public institutions typically outnumber larger institutions. Of course there may be
legitimate reasons why some states prefer a less cost-efficient structure, such as to
meet the diverse needs of citizens within their borders. Governments must also
decide whether overlap of academic programs across institutions is desirable.
Some states tightly control the programmatic offerings of public institutions, while
others have a more free market approach to institutional offerings. Another issue is
which institutions in the state should focus on the production of research. Policy
makers are often most concerned with undergraduate instruction and can view
graduate instruction and research as activities that detract from this mission. Our
findings of economies of scope would tend to support the notion that there are cost
savings from having larger institutions that are simultaneously engaged in research
and teaching.
Moving forward, the notion of economies of scope can potentially be expanded in
a number of ways. Studies such as ours typically group all undergrads together as
one product, and yet one can think about each major being a distinct output.
Education and chemistry majors, for example, may draw on different resources
and have different costs attached to them. This raises the obvious question of what
is the right mix of academic majors for institutions to offer? There may in fact be
efficiencies from having a college provide many different majors due to the general
education requirements at institutions.
So if there are economies of scale and scope, does this necessarily mean that should
we restructure higher education systems to take advantage of these? The results from our
and similar studies would call for having relatively few, but larger, institutions that engage
in a wide range of activities. But would this be good for all students and society? An
argument can be made that the ultimate teaching output from postsecondary education is
not simply the number of students taught, or the number of degrees awarded, but the
knowledge gained through their studies. The field of higher education has thus far
struggled to find good measures of the value-added to students from their college
experiences. Accordingly, it could be the case that some students gain more from
acquiring their education in settings that are smaller, more homogeneous, and possibly
more expensive to operate. One of the hallmarks of higher education in the United States
is that there is a wide variety of institutions from which to choose. Underlying this
heterogeneity is the notion that some students may learn better in different environments.
414 R. K. Toutkoushian and J. C. Lee

Accordingly, forcing more students to attend large multi-output institutions may help
achieve cost savings and yet reduce the true productivity of the system as a whole. In
addition, merging institutions would increase the distance between students and institu-
tions, which may reduce access to college for some students. More research is needed on
these and related topics with regard to economies of scale and scope in higher education.

Acknowledgements An earlier version of this paper was presented at the meeting of the Associ-
ation for Education Finance and Policy (AEFP), Denver, CO, March 17–19, 2016 and the meeting
of the Association for the Study of Higher Education (ASHE), Houston, TX, November 9–11, 2017.
We would like to thank Keith Allen for his help at the early stages of this project, and Steve
DesJardins, Steve Porter, and Sarah Pingel for their helpful comments on earlier drafts of this paper.

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Chapter 9
A Critical Exploration of Diversity
Discourses in Higher Education: A Focus
on Diversity in Student Affairs
and Admissions

Leah Hakkola and Rebecca Ropers-Huilman

9.1 Introduction to the Problem

Former chancellor of the University of California at Berkeley, Chang-Lin Tien

affirmed, “We can no longer afford to ask: Should we—or can we—diversify at
the undergraduate, graduate, and faculty levels? Instead, the question for higher
education is: How can we diversify? How can we make diversity work?” (as cited in
Steele, 1994, p. 238). In the decades since Chancellor Tien noted the diversity
imperative, leaders in higher education have responded to these questions through
the development of diversity committees, action plans, recommendations and spe-
cific recruitment strategies to support and increase diverse student enrollment and
participation on campus (Iverson, 2012; La Noue, 2003; Pope, Mueller, & Reynolds,
2009). Despite past and current efforts to increase diversity in equitable, economi-
cally feasible and culturally responsive ways, however, the intention to increase
student diversity to a level reflective of our nation’s demographics has not yet been
accomplished (Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014).
Often the call to increase diversity in colleges and universities is articulated in
enrollment management plans, affirmative action policies and research focused on
the benefits of diversity (Chun & Evans, 2015; Gurin, 1999a; Iverson 2012; Men-
doza, Taylor, & Weissbrodt, 2006). To better recognize how this call is being
interpreted, a deeper understanding of how diversity is understood by higher

L. Hakkola (*)
School of Educational Leadership, Higher Education, and Human Development, University of
Maine, Orono, ME, USA
e-mail: [email protected]
R. Ropers-Huilman
Faculty and Academic Affairs, Department of Organizational Leadership, Policy, and
Development, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, MN, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 417

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_9
418 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

education constituents is needed. Exploring how diversity discourses are conceptu-

alized and communicated is particularly pertinent for those individuals who interact
with and recruit a diverse student body to their campuses (Dixon, 2001; Evans,
Forney, Guido, Patton, & Renn, 2010; Iverson, 2007; Patton, McEwen, Rendón, &
Howard-Hamilton, 2007).

9.1.1 Purpose of the Chapter: A Focus on Diversity in Student

Affairs and Admissions

This chapter is grounded in scholarship establishing that admissions units and

college recruiters play an important role in increasing and institutionalizing diversity
across college campuses (Freeman, Nuss, & Barr, 1993; Karkouti, 2015; Pope et al.,
2009, Talbot, 2003). Despite work that admissions personnel and college recruiters
have done to increase access, recruitment and support for a diverse student body,
higher education institutions are not yet meeting the needs of all student populations
(Hossler & Palmer, 2012; Kuh, 2015; Patton et al., 2007; Pope et al., 2009; Talbot,
2003; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014). Ambiguity
continues to exist about how diversity is being discussed and communicated in
higher education (Harper & Quaye, 2015) and during the recruitment process
(Aguirre & Martinez, 2006). Dungy (2003) insists that diversity recruitment efforts
need to be supported by every unit and individual within the university structure.
Scholars posit that student affairs professionals can play a central role in this task,
but more knowledge is needed regarding how college recruiters understand and
approach their work with different types of students (Pope et al., 2009).
This chapter situates recruiters’ actions and beliefs within the larger discursive
framework of diversity in higher education. Toward that end, this chapter: (1) inves-
tigates how institutional diversity discourses are represented, communicated and
discussed in the literature as it relates to rationales supporting increases in diversity
in higher education, and (2) explores how admissions units and recruiters enact and
support particular diversity discourses in their work with diverse prospective
students.

9.1.2 Understanding Diversity as Discourse

According to Gee (1999), “discourse” is mobilized, represented and coordinated by

a variety of factors including language, values, beliefs, times, places, identities and
societal structures. Within this framing, languages-in-use are considered “little d”,
which represent “how languages are used ‘on site’ to enact activities and identities”
(p. 7). Gee states that combining “little d” discourse with “non-language ‘stuff’ to
enact specific identities and activities,” is referred to as “big D” discourse (p. 7). He
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 419

asserts that those who are “in the Discourse” are participants who either sustain or
transform a particular discourse. It follows that:
If you put language, action, interaction, values, beliefs, symbols, objects, tools, and places
together in such a way that others recognize you as a particular type of who (identity)
engaged in a particular type of what (activity) here and now, then you have pulled off a
Discourse (and thereby continued it through history, if only for a while longer. (p. 18)

Informed by Gee’s description and framing of discourse, we define “diversity

discourses” in this research as policies, practices and language integrated into higher
education that advocate for the recruitment and involvement of a diverse
student body.
Grounded in Iverson’s (2012) scholarship on diversity, this chapter asserts that
“discourse” both constructs and is influenced by the beliefs, values and norms of
society and its social institutions. Diversity as discourse, then, is constructed by
active and reflexive exchanges of cultural, political, economic, legal and social
messages that are reflective of distinctive individuals, institutions and groups within
society. Iverson notes that discourses are invariably connected to power, privilege
and authority, and normalize how we understand and structure educational policies
and programs. Using this view of discourse provides a way to critically deconstruct
language used in literature regarding rationales to increase diversity in higher
education.
Because society is made up of groups who share different identities and whose
identities have meanings in their lives and interactions, it is important to represent
each group’s understanding and conceptualization of diversity. Thus, in this paper,
we draw from Talbot’s (2003) definition, which states, “diversity is a structure that
includes the tangible presence of individuals representing a variety of different
attributes and characteristics, including culture, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and
other physical and social variables” (p. 426). According to this description, diversity
is best understood in a group context, as no individual in isolation is “diverse.”
Instead, individuals are diverse in some way when they are different from others in
the group. Using these parameters allows us to be as inclusive as possible when
exploring the literature regarding diversity in higher education. While we recognize
that what it means to be “diverse” is dependent upon individual, cultural and societal
contexts, for the purposes of this analysis, we explore in this chapter the ways in
which the term “diverse” is used to characterize the different types of students that
institutions and scholars believe would constitute a diverse student body at their
institutions.

9.1.3 The Changing Characteristics of College Students

Today

According to Haring-Smith (2012), American institutions of higher learning are

more diverse than ever before, citing that “over the past forty years, our freshman
420 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

classes have changed from over 90 percent White to about 73 percent White” (p. 6).
This rapid increase in nontraditional students is not reflective of the historical roots
of higher education institutions in the United States. During the first half of the
twentieth century, colleges and universities were largely composed of White, middle
to upper class students (Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006; Western Interstate Commission
for Higher Education, 2014). An embedded and assumed purpose of higher educa-
tion during the early to mid-twentieth century was to educate privileged, White,
heterosexual U.S. male citizens for the purposes of cultivating an educated citizenry
and workforce to support the country (Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006). Scholars argue
that this obsolete education model no longer addresses the needs of the diverse group
of current prospective college students (Bowman, 2011; Western Interstate Com-
mission for Higher Education, 2014).
Within the last several decades, administrators, educators and student affairs
professionals have revisited their missions and policies, with the purpose of aligning
their goals more closely with changing student demographics, and the socio-
political, cultural and economic environment of the United States (Gutmann, 1987;
Hu & Kuh, 2003; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education. 2014).
Smith and Ota (2013) state:
As the American academy moves further into the mid-2010s, it is important to continue to
expand our push towards educating global citizens who will inherit the leadership of the
“free world”. At the same time it is just as critical that populations historically underrepre-
sented in higher education are not left behind; American higher education should continue to
be the vehicle for social mobility and a “ladder of ascent” for first-generation students of all
races. (p. 20)

As the prospective undergraduate student population continues to diversify, this

ongoing process of reflection, revision and realignment of diversity goals will
continue, particularly in the area of admissions (Kahlenberg, 2014; Karkouti;
2015; Talbot, 2003).
A key strategy in realigning the objectives of higher education is to reflect on the
current and projected characteristics of K-12 students and the needs of incoming
undergraduates (Haycock, 2006; Kuh, Kinzie, Buckley, Bridges, & Hayek, 2006;
Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014). Present demographic
rates indicate that the composition of prospective college students is experiencing
significant flux. As the 2013 U.S. Census Bureau stated, “minority births exceeded
White non-Hispanics for the first time ever in 2011, and Whites in the under five
group are expected to fall below 50 percent within the year” (as cited in Western
Commission for Higher Education, 2013, pp. 3–4). A 2007 report by the National
Center on Education Statistics (NCES) showed that the percentage of bachelor
degrees conferred to White students in the United States decreased by 16.2%
between 1976 and 2007 and is continuing to wane. While the White birth rate
decreases, higher education leaders have become more intentional about attracting
and recruiting a diverse student body to respond to the changing demographics
(Haycock, 2006; Kuh et al., 2006; Western Interstate Commission for Higher
Education, 2014).
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 421

9.1.4 The Changing Definition of “Diverse” Student Groups

In addition to racial and ethnic diversity, college administrators are also paying more
attention to increasing access to all traditionally underserved populations. For
example, David Longanecker, president of the Western Interstate Commission for
Higher Education, calls for “new responses” to “address the global economic
challenges facing America” by paying attention to “communities that higher educa-
tion has not traditionally served well” (Western Interstate Commission for Higher
Education, 2014, p. 6).
Pope et al. (2009) argue that higher education practitioners, administrators and
scholars have already begun to make attempts to reach out to diverse student groups
on campus such as women, adult learners and veterans (p. 642). Given the changes in
economic, cultural, political and social diversity, higher education leaders need to
increase their efforts in creating supportive and accessible learning environments for
all types of students.
Historically, the strategies used to recruit a diverse student body have focused on
race, ethnicity, gender, and class, as evidenced by affirmative action policies and
race-based admissions. These methods have largely sought to redress racial, gender
and class inequalities and systemic discrimination (Chang, 2002; Kahlenberg, 2014;
Moses & Chang, 2006). In addition to these historically underrepresented groups,
international students, older adult learners, students with disabilities and new immi-
grant students are making increases in college participation and visibility as well
(Kennedy & Ishler, 2008; Pope et al., 2009). Moreover, Pope et al. stress that while it
is challenging to measure areas of diversity such as religion and sexual orientation,
these minority groups are also becoming more prevalent on campus and often
included within the umbrella of diversity, particularly within student affairs (p. 690).
Diversity is increasingly understood in its more complex forms. In describing
current college students, Levine and Dean (2012) note:
Though of the same ethnicity or race, students arrive on campus today more than in the past
from different income strata, geographies, social classes, family experiences, educational
backgrounds, and interests. They are first-generation college students and multigenerational
attendees, rich and poor, taking remedial classes and having poles of Advanced Placement
credits, from the inner cities and the most affluent suburbs, and needing full scholarships and
paying full sticker price. The fact that they share a common skin color is often not sufficient
to overcome their differences. (p. 113)

With these more sophisticated understandings of students, the field of student affairs
is widening its diversity lens to include emerging nontraditional student groups
within the discourses and strategies about diversity (Karkouti, 2015; Pope et al.,
2009; Talbot, 2003). Practitioners and scholars argue that these additional groups of
students ought to be considered as part of a diverse student body because they are
different from the historically traditional college student profile, which means that
they may have distinct values, needs and expectations (Pope et al., 2009; Tremblay,
2011). Moreover, research suggests that to exclude students outside the traditional
422 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

racial and ethnic diversity scope could deter them from enrolling and participating in
college (Patton et al., 2007).
It is important to note that within the literature discussing diversity, some scholars
only draw from data that includes racial and ethnic minorities and students who
come from low-income families (Haring-Smith, 2012; Humphreys, 1999). However,
other scholars affirm that individuals from a broad range of backgrounds also benefit
from resources and support through diversity recruitment and retention efforts
(American Speech-Language-Hearing Association, 2012; Denson & Bowman,
2013; Pope et al., 2009). The tension and ambiguity that exist regarding who may
or may not be included in the definition of diversity is important to explore because it
sheds light on how diversity is constructed and used in recruitment policies and
practices (Iverson, 2012).
According to Bowman (2011), “diversity” in higher education traditionally
referred to students of color. Specifically, he espouses that this term applied to
Black and Latino students during the Civil Rights era. However, due to transforma-
tions in the political, economic and cultural context of the United States within the
past several decades, diversity has become a more comprehensive and inclusive
concept (Bowman, 2011; Patton et al. 2007; Pope et al., 2009; White, 2015). In part,
some scholars have opted for a more inclusive diversity discourse in order to
acknowledge the evolving social, cultural, biological, political, philosophical and
religious identities that students bring with them to college (Haring-Smith, 2012;
Humphreys, 2015; Moses & Chang, 2006).
A review of the literature indicates that more recent descriptions of diversity in
higher education are now inclusive of different physical, cognitive, behavioral and
social characteristics (Bowman, 2011; Pope et al., 2009; White, 2015). An illustra-
tion of the evolution of the diversity definition is exemplified in the definition given
by the Association of American Colleges and Universities (AAC&U) (2012). The
AAC&U states that diversity is inclusive of “Individual differences (e.g., personal-
ity, learning styles, and life experiences) and group/social differences (e.g., race/
ethnicity, class, gender, sexual orientation, country of origin, and ability as well as
cultural, political, religious, or other affiliations)” (para. 6).
Although broad diversity definitions are supported by prominent professional
higher education associations (Haring-Smith, 2012; Humphreys, 1999), some
scholars contend that certain characteristics of difference should not be included
within the parameters of diversity efforts (Hurtado, 2007; Michaels, 2006). Hurtado
argues that an overly inclusive notion of diversity may diminish the original intent of
diversity efforts, which was to provide equitable access and opportunities for people
of color to participate in higher education. Powell (2008) asserts that a watered-down
and more generalized definition of diversity may not adequately address the
positionality, situated conditions and discrimination experienced by certain minority
groups. He adds that color-blind language used in diversity discourse makes it
difficult to challenge the issues of racism that are embedded in diversity work
because there is no recognition of systemic power, privilege and historic oppression
of minority groups.
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 423

In addition to Powell’s (2008) concerns, Smith and Ota (2013) state that as higher
education has become more internationalized, some leaders have focused primarily
on the benefits and recruitment of international diversity, negating recruitment of
domestically diverse and historically underserved populations. These scholars are
critical of the broader version of diversity because it discounts equity and access
issues that still exist for many minoritized and underrepresented student populations.
For these reasons, some scholars and social justice advocates advocate a narrower
scope of diversity that focuses on redressing historical inequalities to access and
participation in higher education (Hurtado, 2007; Michaels, 2006; Powell, 2008;
Smith & Ota, 2013).
Due to differences in cultural, social, philosophical and political beliefs, admin-
istrators, scholars and practitioners have not yet reached consensus about how
diversity should be defined, represented or used in higher education (Haring-
Smith; 2012; Moses & Chang, 2006). This disagreement has led to the understand-
ing and framing of diversity in distinct and varied ways and has contributed to the
development of multiple discourses about this term (Aguirre & Martinez, 2006). The
ambiguity regarding this word signals a need to further explore the ways that
diversity discourses are known, accepted and put into practice in higher education.
Exploring diversity rationales and definitions as discourses allows a focus on the
language as it is influenced and situated within the American economic, socio-
political, legal and political systems (Iverson, 2012; Marichal, 2009). Thus, we
now move into a discussion of the development of dominant diversity discourses
used to support increases in diversity in higher education.

9.1.5 Dominant Discourses of Diversity

In her dissertation, Shifting the Lens: A Critical Examination of Diversity Discourses

in College Recruiting, Hakkola (2015) conducted an extensive literature analysis
focused on diversity in higher education. Based on this review, we have organized
the dominant diversity discourses into the following categories:
1. Demographics
2. Neoliberalism
3. Internationalization
4. Equity
5. Academic Excellence
6. Pluralistic Democratic Education
In Fig. 9.1: Dominant Diversity Discourses in U.S. Higher Education, we present a
visual representation of our understandings of the relationships within the discourses
of diversity in U.S. higher education. In this figure, a different lens represents each
discourse. These lenses symbolize fluid and coordinated systems of language,
images, messages and values that exist within the larger socio-political context of
higher education. These lenses overlap in various ways and shape how “diversity” is
424 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

Pluralistic
Democratic Education

Equity Internationalization

Academic
Excellence Neoliberalism

Demographics

Fig. 9.1 Dominant diversity discourses in U.S. higher education (Hakkola, 2015)

seen, understood and enacted by higher education scholars, administrators and

practitioners (Marichal, 2009; Mendoza et al., 2006).
Kuh (2015) argues that increasing diversity is an important aspiration for higher
education officials. Iverson (2012) notes that institutional language and conceptions
of diversity are framed and informed by overall discourses in American society and
are based on the discursive practices of politics, popular culture and media. Moti-
vated and influenced by these societal institutions, higher education leaders have
crafted a variety of discourses to justify the need to diversify higher education
(Chang, 2013; Gutierrez, 2011; Harper & Quaye, 2015; Iverson, 2012; Marichal,
2009; Mendoza et al., 2006).
Diversity discourses are programs, practices, language and policies used to
develop and support the recruitment and participation of a diverse student body in
higher education (Iverson, 2010; Iverson, 2012; Moses & Chang, 2006). Influenced
by societal values, beliefs and activities, discourses develop and shift over time
through language, knowledge and social institutions (Foucault, 1984; Gee, 2011a;
Iverson, 2012). While several common discourses have emerged in the literature,
contention exists as to which are the most effective in supporting and enhancing
diversity (Chun & Evans, 2015).
Different ideologies regarding the purposes of higher education have impacted
which discourses have become more legitimate, recognized and widespread (Haring-
Smith, 2012; Humphreys, 1999). Based on a review of the literature, six discourses
emerged as the most common ways to frame diversity in higher education. The main
diversity discourses discussed in this research argue that having a diverse student
body is imperative to address changing student demographics (AAC&U, 2012;
Hossler & Palmer, 2012), to meet the demands of future workforce needs (Smith
& Ota, 2013; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014), to
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 425

internationalize campus and assist in the development of students’ intercultural skills

(Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Denson & Bowman, 2013; Paige & Mestenhauser,
1999; Salisbury, Umbach, Paulsen, & Pascarella, 2008), to address educational
inequities (Chang, 2002; Chun & Evans, 2015; Haycock, 2006; Hurtado, 2007), to
enhance academic excellence (Chang, 2013; Gurin, 1999a; Moses & Chang, 2006;
Smith, 1991), and to achieve the ideals for a pluralistic democratic society in the
twenty-first century (Bowman, 2011; Curris, 2006; Guarasci & Cornwell, 1997;
Gutierrez, 2011; Gutmann, 1987).
Grounded largely within the values, norms and language of current socio-political
context, each diversity discourse shapes the boundaries, meaning and significance of
diversity in distinctive ways (Iverson, 2012). It follows that the discourses used at
specific colleges will inevitably influence how administrators, scholars and student
affairs professionals of those colleges frame and prioritize diversity, especially in
their diversity recruitment efforts. Thus, we now turn to a discussion of the field of
student affairs, with a focus on admissions units and college recruiters, as they play
an important part in the goal to increase diversity in higher education. We also
discuss several current diversity recruitment strategies that have been highlighted in
the literature, noting why scholars believe that more support for a diverse student
body is needed. Finally, we expound on the influence of identity on student affairs
professionals and articulate why these individuals serve such a critical role in
recruiting a diversity of students.

9.1.6 Student Affairs Professionals in Higher Education

and Recruiting

Similar to the evolution of diversity in higher education, the field of student affairs
also has evolved within the context of the American political climate, economic
environment, student demographics and cultural norms (Harper & Quaye, 2015;
Nuss, 2003). In “The Development of Student Affairs,” Nuss (2003) provides a
succinct overview of the progression of the student affairs profession in higher
education, noting that this field has also been referred to as college student personnel,
student affairs and student support services, among other labels. Units within student
affairs, such as admissions and recruiting, have a history of purposefully tending to
the needs and specific backgrounds of nontraditional students through financial aid,
affirmative action policies and college preparation programs (Karkouti, 2015; Tal-
bot, 2003). Scholars who research and work in student affairs assert that admissions
professionals and recruiters have the potential to function as critical players in
preparing and developing a campus culture that is ready to meet the needs and
expectations of a diverse student body (Dungy, 2003; Harper & Quaye, 2015;
Karkouti, 2015; Talbot, 2003).
In an overview of admissions staff roles and responsibilities in U.S. higher
education, Dungy (2003) states, “the basic job of admissions personnel is to tell
426 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

prospective students about the institution and its programs, as well as to recruit,
screen, and accept applicants” (p. 343). Historically, admissions units have been
included under the umbrella of student affairs. In more recent years, some institu-
tions have created a separate division referred to as enrollment management, which
can serve to increase particular groups of students’ participation and mitigate
attrition rates (Dungy, 2003). Similar to the admissions office, a major objective of
this newer unit is to increase minority student persistence and graduation rates.
While new student affairs units focusing on diversity continue to emerge, the next
section of this discussion will specifically explore the role of admissions units in
recruiting a diverse student population.
Current Diversity Recruitment Strategies Used in Higher
Education Admissions and recruiting in higher education are significant tools for
institutional management and change (Dungy, 2003). Accordingly, many institu-
tions have developed approaches to transition students into higher education insti-
tutions through support services geared toward addressing a variety of student
characteristics (Milem, Chang, & Antonio, 2005; Smith & Ota, 2013). Some of
the strategies to increase diversity have begun with the recruiting phase, wherein
new and prospective students gain knowledge about college campuses by interacting
with admissions personnel and college recruiters (Daun-Barnett & Das, 2013; EDge
Interactive Youthography, 2004; Kennedy & Ishler, 2008; Pippert et al., 2013). In
recognition of the broadest range of diversity, recent diversity admissions efforts
have included the development of materials and literature for nontraditional students,
increased attention to alternative admissions policies and enhanced college readiness
services (Milem et al., 2005; Talbot, 2003). In regard to recruiting efforts for ethnic,
racial, gender and low-income students, Pitre and Pitre (2009) argue that the
strategies to increase diversity do not have sufficient resources or financial support
to increase participation rates to a level that is proportionate to the ethnic and racial
demographics of the United States.
Pope et al. (2009) note that it can be challenging and sometimes problematic to
collect accurate measures of participation rates for certain types of students, such as
LGBTQ students, students with physical disabilities and students with minority
religious backgrounds. Even though it may be difficult to measure rates for all
types of diversity, many scholars maintain that the broad description of what it
means to be “diverse” needs to be considered in diversity recruitment strategies
(Haring-Smith, 2012; Patton et al., 2007; Pope et al., 2009).
Research on the broad range of students suggests that many recruitment strategies
are not tailored to all students’ needs. In order to attract and retain students from a
variety of backgrounds and experiences, it is critical for recruiters to recognize and
understand how to position and market their institutions in meaningful ways to
students who come from different environments and who identify as nontraditional
students (Diversity Pipeline Alliance, 2002; Pippert et al., 2013; Talbot, 2003).
Rather than using only one type of recruitment strategy, as the pool of prospective
students changes, college recruiters need to be able to identify and tailor their efforts
to the needs, desires and expectations of different types of students (Chang, 2013;
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 427

Karkouti, 2015; Pippert et al., 2013; Pope et al., 2009; Thomas & Thurber, 1999).
Thus, in this next section, we investigate the role that college recruiters play in
addressing and implementing recruiting strategies for a diverse student body.
The Role of Admissions and College Recruiters in Recruiting
for Diversity Even though many American higher education institutions have
supplemented their mission statements and strategic plans with goals targeted toward
increasing diversity (Curris, 2006; Confer & Mamiseishvili, 2012; Iverson, 2012;
Moses & Chang, 2006), leaders within student affairs argue that support also needs
to be reinforced by the admissions division because of its central role in attracting a
diverse student body to campus (Dungy, 2003; Karkouti, 2015; Pope et al., 2009).
For example, in a seminal study examining factors that impact student success in
college, Crosson (1988) found that admissions personnel and college recruiters are
positioned as influential figures in the retention and success of racial and ethnic
minority students. Extending Crosson’s research, in What Matters in Student Suc-
cess: A Review of the Literature, Kuh et al. (2006) note Crosson’s (1988) findings as
pivotal to supporting the development of customized and culturally specific admis-
sions policies. Scholars add that all types of diversity ought to be considered when
crafting admissions policies and practices for nontraditional students in order to be as
inclusive and equitable as possible (Haring-Smith, 2012; Kuh et al., 2006). Kuh
(2015) maintains:
A dependency on sameness is no longer appropriate, as contemporary cohorts of students at
colleges and universities are different; the ways they experience and respond to their
campuses vary. Thus, faculty and student affairs educators must be strategic and intentional
about fostering conditions that compel students to make the most of college both inside and
outside the classroom. (p. x)

Talbot (2003) concurs, affirming that it is crucial for student affairs professionals,
including college recruiters, to learn how to interact with all types of students to
work effectively in the university. Yet, Pope et al. (2009), Gutierrez (2011), and
Karkouti (2015) have found that many student affairs professionals are inadequately
trained to address the challenges faced by a diverse prospective student body and the
complex issues they confront during the college choice process. This discrepancy in
training and preparation is particularly relevant for the admissions division because
recruiters need to be able to identify specific student needs and use culturally
sensitive dialogue in order to authentically increase diversity and support a diverse
student body on their campuses (Castellanos, Gloria, Mayorga, & Salas, 2008;
Patton et al., 2007; Talbot; 2003).

To help prepare student affairs professionals in working with diverse student

populations, a variety of multicultural competence frameworks have emerged in the
last several decades (Castellanos et al., 2008). Talbot (2003) cites several prominent
examples that support the development of cultural competence such as Bennett’s
developmental model of intercultural sensitivity (1986), Pedersen’s multicultural
development model (1988) and the concept of multicultural organizational develop-
ment (Pope, Reynolds, & Mueller, 2014). While these frameworks are useful,
428 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

researchers and administrators argue that the models alone are not enough to increase
and support diversity at the level that has been put forth by many diversity strategic
plans and policies (Gutierrez, 2011; Kuh, 2015; Patton et al., 2007; Pope et al., 2009;
Talbot, 2003). Rather than using models that address only certain aspects of diversity
issues, a more consistent and comprehensive level of preparation is needed for
student affairs professionals to effectively interact with students who identify as
diverse (Castellanos et al., 2008; Dungy, 2003; Talbot, 2003). Accordingly, training
on how to respectfully recognize the role of identity, and respond to difference are
important factors that influence recruiting a diverse student body (Patton et al., 2007;
Pippert et al., 2013; Thomas & Thurber, 1999).

9.1.7 Theoretical Framework: Critical Race Theory

Our analysis is driven by the theoretical framework of critical race theory (CRT)
because it aims to explore how diversity discourses are understood and put into
practice by admissions units and college recruiters during the recruitment process.
Using CRT as an analytical tool helps to shed light on some of the limitations of the
diversity discourses that emerged in our review. According to Milner (2007), CRT is
structured around the following three tenets:
1. Race is a social construction and racism is a normal facet of American society that
needs to be challenged and problematized.
2. Most educational, legal and political policies are structured based on the interest
convergence principle, which espouses that White people will support policies
and initiatives intended to benefit non-White individuals only if they also benefit
White people.
3. CRT promotes the use of counter-stories as a method of validating the lived
experience of non-White individuals.
In addition to the three tenets mentioned above, CRT scholars expound on the
principles of CRT, which include the necessity to challenge “value-neutral” policies,
recognize that all individuals embody multiple identities, and view racism as
interconnected with other types of domination and subordination, such as hetero-
sexism and classism (Kumasi, 2011). Given these principles, CRT scholars assert
that marginalized people have valuable knowledge and lived experiences that ought
to be acknowledged, shared and validated through self-reflective and transformative
methods and theories (Lopez, 2003).
According to CRT, diversity discourses inadequately address racism and other
educational inequities engrained in American culture and its societal institutions
(Taylor, Gillborn, & Ladson-Billings, 2009). Advocates of CRT posit that these
problems will only begin to be resolved when White privilege is acknowledged and
addressed in the education system. CRT researchers insist that this recognition will
need to be accompanied by a restructuring of the Eurocentric epistemological system
of knowledge, which is responsible for perpetuating racist, sexist, heteronormative
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 429

and Eurocentric values and beliefs (Solorzano & Yosso, 2009). By applying a CRT
methodology to understanding diversity discourses and recruitment efforts in higher
education, administrators, scholars and student affairs professionals can critically
examine how their discourses shape policy creation, implementation and practice.
This critical inquiry can lead to the development of more culturally responsive
programming for a diverse student body (Patton et al., 2007).
Lastly, a focus on CRT can help college recruiters understand the intricacies and
intersectionality that are correlated with the many identities that students bring with
them to campus (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001, p. 51). These identities include one’s
sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, class, religion, ability, faith and any other identity
that a student values (Patton et al., 2007). Patton and colleagues maintain, “the
critical race theoretical perspective is an important step in creating spaces for safe
dialogue, reducing microaggressions on campus, and moving one step further
toward understanding the intricacies of multiple identities, including race” (Patton
et al., 2007, p. 47). Hence, applying a CRT lens to admissions policies and
recruitment practices illustrates how recruiters’ attitudes about diversity affect their
interactions and behaviors with diverse students. This perspective is critical because
existing scholarship suggests that how institutions represent diversity impacts stu-
dents’ college choice process and sense of belonging (Klassen, 2000; Pippert et al.,
2013).
CRT as an Independent Discourse In our use of CRT as an analytical tool and
lens in which to view diversity discourses, we draw on Gee’s understanding of
“discourse”. According to Gee (2008):
Discourses are inherently “ideological.” They crucially involve a set of values and view-
points about the social and political (power) relationships between people and the distribu-
tion of social goods (at the very least about who is an insider and who isn’t, but often many
others as well). One must speak and act and at least appear to think and feel in terms of these
values and viewpoints while being in the Discourse; otherwise one doesn’t count as being in
it. (p. 111)

Based on Gee’s framework, it is clear that CRT acts as an independent discourse

because it forms the way that people consider, structure and analyze how diversity is
framed in literature, policies and programs in higher education. It follows that our
inquiry and subsequent assertions in this review are openly value-mediated, poten-
tially transformative, and shaped by the time, place and socio-political context in
which we are situated in higher education.

9.1.8 Methodological Framework: Critical Discourse

Analysis

Iverson (2012) notes that institutional language and conceptions of diversity are
framed and informed by broader discourses in American society and are based on the
discursive practices of politics, popular culture and media. Motivated and influenced
430 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

by the larger society, higher education leaders have crafted a variety of discourses to
justify the need to diversify higher education (Chang, 2013; Gutierrez, 2011; Harper
& Quaye, 2015; Iverson, 2012; Marichal, 2009). Grounded largely within the values,
norms and language of current socio-political contexts, each diversity discourse
shapes the boundaries, meanings and significance of diversity in distinctive ways
(Iverson, 2012). Accordingly, analysis in this chapter will be driven by the explo-
ration of big “D” discourses, as we aim to explore how scholars and administrators
take up, represent and communicate rationales to increase diversity in higher
education.
In order to present and analyze the six dominant diversity discourses, we use
critical discourse analysis (CDA) to deconstruct how texts connect, communicate,
and express specific identities and messages about lived experiences, contexts,
connections, relationships, societal norms, and identity characteristics. Using CDA
as an analytical tool emphasizes which words and texts are made significant simply
by their presence, prominence, tone, and frequency. Discourse analysis also makes
note of what words are not being used, in an attempt to show what or who may be
silenced or marginalized. In addition, Gee (2011a) stresses that discourse analysis is
useful because it depicts particular “big C Conversations”, which “allude or relate to
themes, debates, or motifs that have been the focus of much talk and writing in some
social group with which we are familiar or in our society as a whole” (p. 29).
Examples of “big C Conversations” include legalized abortion and universal
healthcare, in which individuals would most likely espouse a particular opinion
about the topic under debate.
Another benefit of using the CDA method is that it encourages a deep investiga-
tion of the ways in which conceptions of language are represented and taken up by
both individuals and institutions, as well as how language is drawn from fields of
law, economics and politics (Gee, 2011b; Iverson, 2007; Ladson-Billings, 2009;
Patton et al., 2007). CDA creates a systematic way to problematize how diversity is
articulated as an institutional discourse while exploring how distinct discourses may
impact what diversity means at specific colleges and to particular individuals (Allan,
2010; Iverson, 2007; Patton et al., 2007).
Patton et al. (2007) argue that certain perceptions of diversity and the strategies
that scholars and practitioners engage in when talking with different types of
students could have significant impact on the level of success of diversity efforts.
Hence, the focus on how language is negotiated and communicated by practitioners
in the context of larger socio-political contexts helps to illuminate how diversity
discourses compete, converge and shape understandings and representations of
diversity during recruitment. In sum, CDA provides a systematic approach to
understand how diversity is articulated as institutional discourse and how distinct
discourses may impact what diversity means in particular spaces and contexts
(Allan, 2010; Iverson, 2007; Patton et al., 2007).
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 431

9.1.9 Exploring Diversity Discourses in Higher Education:

An Overview

We now turn to a discussion of the salient discourses, policies, practices and

rationales related to increasing diversity in higher education. Through the lens of
CRT and CDA we describe how each diversity discourse shapes higher education
policies and practices and has the potential to alienate, stigmatize, stereotype and
deter certain prospective students from attending or participating in higher educa-
tion. We also expound on how these dominant discourses have the opportunity to
transform the way that diversity is conceived and represented to support a diverse
student body in higher education. We provide an in-depth analysis of literature
discussing the six dominant diversity discourses: demographics, neoliberalism,
internationalization, equity, academic excellence and pluralistic democratic educa-
tion. In Table 9.1: Dominant Discourses of Diversity: Key Features and Critiques,
we provide a description of each discourse, highlighting key features and critiques.
The Demographic Discourse of Diversity A major argument that supports
enhancement of diversity in higher education is the belief that colleges and univer-
sities need to reflect the growing diversity of the United States and/or their local
communities (Banerji, 2006; Gerald & Haycock, 2006; Haycock, 2006; Western
Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014). This argument is based on the
projection that the K – 12 student-of-color population will continue to grow in
upcoming decades (Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2013).
For example, the American Council on Education (2006) reported that from 1993 to
2003 K-12 enrollments for Whites increased by only 3%, whereas enrollment rates
for minorities increased by 52%. According to Debra Humphreys (2015), Editor of
Diversity Digest, and Director of Programs, Office of Diversity, Equity, and Global
Initiatives within the AAC&U, “The number of undergraduates qualified to attend
colleges and universities in the United States will grow by 19 percent--2.6 million
students--between 1995 and 2015, with minority students making up 80 percent of
the increase” (p. 1). These statistics clearly demonstrate the changing demographics
in prospective college students.
Humphreys (2015) asserts that as more minority students attend college, the need
to enhance “diversity” in higher education will continue to expand. Proponents of
the demographic discourse affirm that universities need to increase their diversity
simply due to the increases in non-White people in the population (American
Speech-Language-Hearing Association, 2012; Chickering & Braskamp, 2009;
Humphreys, 2015; Mather & Adams, 2012). It is important to mention that not all
scholars support the idea that higher education should serve everyone; however,
given the growth in racial and ethnic demographic student diversity and decline in
White birth rates, advocates of the demographic discourse support increases in
demographic diversity in higher education (Moses & Chang, 2006; Humphreys,
2015; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014).
432 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

Table 9.1 Dominant discourses of diversity: key features and critiques

Discourse Key rationale Key features and phrases CRT critique
Student We should diversify our Student of color demo- Exclusive of certain
demographics student body because it is graphics need to be pro- types of diversity
the right thing to do given portionate to U.S. higher Interest convergence
the demographics of our education population principle applies
country. Focus on racial and ethnic Creation of a binary
diversity, students of color of diversity or aca-
Multicultural diversity demic excellence
(Impossible to have
both)
Neoliberalism We should diversify our Economic rationale Privatization ¼>
student body to advance Business vitality Selectivity, no room
our institutional vitality, University sustainability for equity
national economy, and International competition Diversity as com-
global competitiveness. Free market capitalism modity
Focus on racial, ethnic and Interest convergence
international diversity principle applies
Ahistorical perspec-
tive of diversity
(Does not acknowl-
edge historical rac-
ism)
Promotion of eco-
nomic competition
perpetuating inequity
International- We should diversify our Internationalization Exclusive of certain
ization student body because it agenda types of diversity
will help them become Global perspective Places White student
global citizens. Studying abroad experience as priority
Cross-cultural events Interest convergence
Augmenting curriculum principle applies
with international topics Ahistorical perspec-
Global citizenship tive of diversity
Intercultural development (Does not acknowl-
Focus on international edge historical rac-
student diversity ism)
Elements of
neocolonialism
Equity We should diversify our Focus on affirmative Exclusive of certain
student body to correct action and redressing of types of diversity
past injustices that denied historical inequities Interest convergence
access to college for cer- toward domestic people of principle applies
tain groups of people. color Creation of a binary
Focus on racial and ethnic of diversity or aca-
diversity, students of color demic excellence
Multicultural diversity Does not acknowl-
edge the transforma-
tive benefits of
adding diversity to
campus
(continued)
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 433

Table 9.1 (continued)

Discourse Key rationale Key features and phrases CRT critique
Academic We should create a diverse Focus on educational Exclusive of certain
excellence student body because it benefits of adding domes- types of diversity
will allow us to facilitate tic racial and ethnic diver- White students at the
better educational experi- sity on campus center of the benefits
ences for all students. Diversity enhances quality of diversity
of education and academic Interest convergence
achievement of White principle applies
students Ahistorical perspec-
Focus on racial and ethnic tive of diversity
diversity, students of color (Does not acknowl-
Multicultural diversity edge historical
racism)
Pluralistic We should create a diverse Includes equal value, Diversity is fluid
democratic student body because a respect, and opportunity to concept, understand-
education functioning democracy freely participate in all ings may change
requires it. aspects of society Watered-down
Focus on race and ethnic understanding of
diversity and more inclu- diversity
sive of gender, class, U.S. centric focus on
immigrant diversity individualistic under-
standing of diversity

A Critical Analysis of the Demographic Discourse Scholars using the demo-

graphic rationale for supporting diversity efforts often cite research that discusses
the increase in racial and ethnic minority students in K-12 public schooling and the
concurring decline of the White student population (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009;
Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2013). A significant critique
of this framing of diversity is that the research is solely based on population and
enrollment rates of race and ethnicity, which fails to recognize the vast components
of identity that characterize diverse students today (Brah & Phoenix, 2009; Kuh,
2015; Solorzano & Yosso, 2009). The demographic discourse relies largely on
quantifying racially and ethnically diverse students and categorizing them into
diversity indexes related to national and international college rankings (Dill,
2009). Within this discourse, then, the diversity definition is limited to specific
racial, ethnic, gender and class characteristics. As a result, it indirectly relegates
students with other diverse social, cognitive and physical identities to the periphery
(Haring-Smith, 2012; Talbot, 2003).
In critique of exclusively relying upon the demographic rationale to understand
and discuss diversity in higher education, then-President of the AAC&U Carol
Geary Schneider notes:
The problem is that U.S. News and World Report defines campus diversity solely in
demographic terms. They assign a "diversity index" based on the total proportion of minority
students (not including international students) and the mix of racial/ethnic groups. This
measure does not begin to capture the complexity of campus diversity. (1999, para. 4)
434 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

While Schneider’s criticism is nearly two decades old, this critique still applies, in
that a limited framing of diversity does not acknowledge the multiple characteristics
that are included in the broader umbrella of diversity in today’s world (Haring-
Smith, 2012). Research indicates that the demographic rationale of diversity does not
adequately recognize the many academic, social, political and communal ways that
diversity of all types can enrich students’ lives and the university community (Chun
& Evans, 2015). In fact, scholars contend that by quantifying diversity using only the
boundaries of race, ethnicity and gender, the demographic discourse separates the
goals of increasing diversity from the goals of achieving academic excellence. In other
words, this discourse can be seen as perpetuating the idea that institutions must choose
between promoting diversity or promoting academic excellence. Contrary to this
assertion, Lou and Jamieson-Drake’s (2009) research indicates that universities need
to increase demographic diversity in order to truly achieve academic excellence (p. 81).
An additional limitation of the demographic discourse is that it is based on a
Eurocentric framing of how to evaluate and measure diversity (Gutierrez, 2011).
This discourse largely relies upon demographic statistics to assess diversity, which
means that it compares racial and ethnic participation and demographic rates with
White students. Within this perspective, it is assumed that when a certain level of
racial and ethnic diversity is attained, the goal to increase diversity has been
achieved. Placing White student rates as the norm and the center of analysis reveals
a Eurocentric framing of diversity. The demographic discourse does not allow
nontraditional students to name their own reality as particular types of diverse
individuals, which may alienate some students (Kumasi, 2011). It follows that the
demographic discourse fails to value all identity characteristics as being equal to
each other, potentially marginalizing some students, while inadvertently endorsing
White students as the norm (Gutierrez, 2011; Patton et al., 2007). Ultimately, this
limited understanding of diversity does not allow for the wide range of possible
benefits and understandings of diversity and difference, nor does it acknowledge the
civic, academic or social benefits of increased diversity on college campuses (Chun
& Evans, 2015; Hurtado, 2007; Kennedy, 2013).
The Neoliberal Discourse of Diversity Some higher education scholars,
policymakers and practitioners have moved away from a demographic discourse
toward a discourse that frames increasing diversity as a positive goal within a
neoliberal paradigm (Hartley & Morphew, 2008; Phillips, 2014; Western Interstate
Commission for Higher Education, 2014). Proponents of the neoliberal discourse
use an economic rationale that is grounded in neoliberal tenets as grounds to support
efforts to enhance diversity (Mather & Adams, 2012). As a political and economic
system, neoliberalism has played a major role in the progression of the world
economy for the past 25 years (Apple, 2002; Fish, 2009). Its basic tenets include
individualism, rational choice, free market capitalism, deregulation, economic competi-
tion and privatization (Fish, 2009). Within this economic model, social justice is based on
the supply and demand of the marketplace (Apple, 2002). According to Treanor (2005):
Neoliberalism is a philosophy in which the existence and operation of a market are valued in
themselves, separately from any previous relationship with the production of goods and
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 435

services . . . and where the operation of a market or market-like structure is seen as an ethic in
itself, capable of acting as a guide for all human action, and substituting for all previously
existing ethical beliefs. (para. 3)

The principles of neoliberalism have significantly influenced the development of

higher education within the last few decades (Hartley & Morphew, 2008). In
particular, Clawson and Leiblum (2008) maintain that this economic system has
led to the privatization of many colleges and universities in the United States,
meaning that instead of being funded through federal and state allocations, univer-
sities are now seeking financial support from corporations and private businesses.
The decrease in government support has contributed to an increase in corporate and
private donor funding and subsequent pressure to increase national and world-class
rankings in order to attract more money to fund colleges and universities (Clawson &
Leiblum, 2008). The literature notes that privatized colleges are now competing with
not only national institutions, but also international and “world-class” universities to
draw donors and to recruit the most promising students, which are often considered
diverse in some way (Freidman, 2005; Hartley & Morphew, 2008).
Neoliberalists argue that basing the American higher education system on mar-
ket-driven values will compel universities to develop superior education programs so
that they can successfully recruit and educate an elite global workforce (Freidman,
2005). The literature indicates that neoliberal principles undergird many facets of the
American higher education system (Apple, 2002). Hence, in the next section, we
examine several neoliberal rationales used by the government, businesses and
universities to support the goals to increase diversity, with a critical focus on the
discursive elements of these categories. While these rationales are linked together
through use of similar rhetoric and logic, each section has distinctive elements that
focus on particular neoliberal motivations for increasing diversity in higher
education.
The Economic Framing Scholars supportive of the economic framing within the
neoliberal discourse affirm that if higher education institutions do not increase
diversity and create sufficient retention efforts for diverse students, they will not
be profitable or competitive due to the extreme changes in student demographics
(Astone & Nunez-Wormack, 1991; Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Clawson &
Leiblum, 2008; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014).
Research based within this perspective focuses on projected non-White and
nontraditional student population and college participation rates, economic and
workforce trends and market-oriented notions of the purposes of higher education
(Apple, 2002; Marichal, 2009; Smith & Ota, 2013). Supporters of the economic
rationale within the neoliberal discourse believe that the rising number of non-White
and nontraditional students at the K-12 level logically signals a need to increase
these students’ participation rates in higher education (Clawson & Leiblum, 2008).
In support of this assertion, scholars provide evidence of the major increases in
minority students in the K-12 public school system and the concurring decline of the
White student population (American Speech-Hearing-Language Association, 2012;
436 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

Tremblay, 2011). This is not a new concern, as Astone and Nunez-Wormack argued
in (1991):
By 2000, minorities will account for roughly 30 percent of the population (U.S. Bureau of
the Census 1990c). Even now, 27 percent of all public school students in the 24 largest city
school systems are minorities (Hodgkinson 1983). Yet for nearly all minority groups, high
school graduation rates are significantly lower than for the majority, and entry rates of
college-age minorities into higher education are actually shrinking. (para. 7)

Despite efforts to increase minority enrollment and persistence for several decades,
recruitment and retention of minority students remain low in most four-year public
and private higher education institutions (Clawson & Leiblum, 2008; Gerald &
Haycock, 2006; Sweeny, 2013).

Research within the neoliberal paradigm espouses that students of diverse expe-
riences, backgrounds, needs and characteristics ought to be included in higher
education because they have the potential to play a significant role in maintaining
and increasing educational, social and economic capital in the United States
(Carnevale & Fry, 2000; Chun & Evans, 2015; Haycock, 2006). In particular,
scholars note that the increasingly diverse student population will need to enter
and graduate from higher education so that they can contribute to the demands of the
national workforce and compete in the growing knowledge economy (Banerji, 2006;
Clawson, & Leiblum, 2008; Freidman, 2005; Gerald & Haycock, 2006). Within this
discourse, scholars argue that failure to provide sufficient access to and support for
diverse students in higher education will have long-term impacts on the economic
strength of the United States compared with other nations (Gutierrez, 2011; Pitre &
Pitre, 2009). Ultimately, business leaders, higher education scholars and practi-
tioners using the economic rationale to support increases in diversity argue that the
shifts in student demographics require leaders in higher education, admissions and
college recruiting to become more strategic and deliberate in recruitment processes
and enrollment management in order to attract and support a sufficiently diverse
student body (Hossler & Palmer, 2012; Pope et al., 2009; Stage & Hossler, 2000).
The Business Vitality Framing The neoliberal rationale to promote diverse student
participation in higher education also relies on an argument about business vitality.
This argument is distinctive because the focus shifts from the economic wellbeing of
the United States to the welfare of corporate America. Elements of this category
include competition, increasing profit and gaining a competitive edge in the global
economy (Apple, 2002; Friedman, 2005). For the past few decades, American
businesses have invested in efforts to increase diversity in higher education because
they believe that this investment will lead to a stronger workforce and more profit for
businesses (Astone & Nunez-Wormack, 1991; Carnevale, 1999; Dill, 2009; Gutier-
rez, 2011; Humphreys, 2015). According to the American Speech-Hearing-Lan-
guage Association (2012), “The traditional White male workforce will shrink by an
estimated 11% (U.S. Census Bureau) while the minority workforce will expand
rapidly. By 2028, it is expected that there will be a shortage of 19 million skilled
workers to fill jobs in the U.S.” (para. 6). In response to the potential shortage,
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 437

corporate America and the U.S. government have called to action a number of higher
education leaders to support efforts to increase diversity (American Speech-Hearing-
Language Association, 2012; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education;
2014).
Much of corporate America’s support for increasing diversity is driven by their
fear of the convergence of declining White birth rates in line with a scarcity of
students of color in higher education (Smith & Ota, 2013). Lack of students, and in
particular nontraditional students, enrolled in higher education institutions will lead
to a scarcity in skilled workers, which could culminate in the breakdown of corporate
America (Freidman, 2005; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education,
2013). This logic is based on the neoliberal principle of deregulated competition.
According to Treanor (2005), “The free market generates a form of Darwinian
selection: the survival of the competitive. Non-competition, or incomplete compe-
tition, is failure. The market produces a hierarchy of failure, with the most compet-
itive firms and individuals at the top” (para. 23). According to neoliberal rules of
competition, for government and businesses to remain competitive, they must have
the most qualified graduates working to support them. Corporate America needs a
sufficient number of non-White students to be able to fill all positions available in
order to continue to compete in the global economy (Smith & Ota, 2013). The major
risk in this scenario is that if the supply of qualified diverse students does not fill the
demand for qualified and educated workers in American businesses, corporations
within the United States could fall lower in the ranks of the global economic
hierarchy (Carnevale, 1999; Diversity Pipeline, 2002; Friedman, 2005; Gildersleeve,
Kuntz, & Pasque, 2010).
Largely grounded in neoliberal rhetoric, Anthony Carnevale, former Vice Pres-
ident for Public Leadership at the Education and Testing Service, illustrates the
business vitality rationale for increasing diversity in “Diversity in Higher Education:
Why Corporate America Cares”. He asserts:
The emergence of a global economy and the increasing diversity of the U.S. population are
changing the face of the U.S. workforce. To meet the needs of customers across the planet’s
30-odd time zones, American companies are working faster, cheaper, and smarter than ever
before. And whether in Beijing or Baltimore, global competition has empowered diverse
consumers with more choices. Consumers want products that reflect their lifestyles and
values. They want to see faces like theirs in product advertisements, and in the showrooms
and boardrooms of the companies whose products they buy. (1999, para. 4)

Many business professionals supporting neoliberalism recognize the necessity to

increase diversity in American higher education institutions. Thus, they argue for a
more educated and diverse workforce because they claim that it will contribute to
greater national and international economic competition, increased government
revenue and corporate profit (Hossler & Palmer, 2012).
University Sustainability Framing In addition to diversity enhancing the economic
and business vitality of the United States, some scholars have shifted their focus
from the economy or corporate American to university sustainability as a rationale
for increasing diversity (Apple, 2002; Berdahl, 1998; Smith & Ota, 2013).
438 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

According to the university sustainability rationale within the neoliberal discourse,

failing to increase access to and participation in college by opening the gates to
non-White and nontraditional students could pose a significant threat to the financial
sustainability of colleges in the United States (Banjeri, 2006; Friedman, 2005).
Institutions of higher learning are expected to be key agents in developing and
generating future economic, political and business leaders for their country (Banjeri,
2006; Haycock, 2006; Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, 2014).
If these institutions are unable to attract enough qualified students to produce an
educated workforce, support from state, federal and business corporations may
decline. Similar to the economic rationale, scholars argue that expanding the pool
of potential student candidates through diversity efforts will help higher education
institutions remain globally competitive by enhancing the quality of their institu-
tional research and increasing their scholarly strength (Haycock, 2006; Humphreys,
1999).
Situating university sustainability within the neoliberal discourse frames univer-
sities as dominant discursive sites within society that connect to the state, national
and global economy in the production of knowledge and the development of an
educated workforce (Friedman, 2005; Gildersleeve et al., 2010). Smith and Ota
(2013) concur, adding that the principles of neoliberalism have strongly influenced
current American economic, political and educational policies and practices. Along
with other scholars, they believe that using neoliberalism as the dominant rationale
to increase diversity in higher education has become increasingly popular (Marichal,
2009; Smith & Ota, 2013). Yet, scholars argue that neoliberalism may mask social
inequalities and often commodifies education and diversity (Iverson, 2012; Dill,
2009). Accordingly, in the next section, we explore the neoliberal discourse of
diversity with a focus on how it may impact the recruitment process and affect
diverse students’ perspectives on college and college choice.
A Critical Analysis of the Neoliberal Discourse Eurocentric privilege is embedded
throughout the neoliberal discourse that is used to support increases in diversity in
higher education. Gildersleeve et al. (2010) argues that this privilege is framed as
meritocratic because it is based on a value-free capitalist system. Apple (2002)
coined the term “conservative modernization” to describe the “hegemonic bloc” of
neoliberal discourse, which includes tenets from neoliberalism, neoconservatism,
authoritarian populist religious conservatism and managerialism. He maintains that
this “hegemonic bloc” serves to legitimize social inequities and discrimination
through the myth of meritocracy, which argues that individuals can go as far as
their own merits can take them. Apple also stresses that this “bloc” has
commandeered the purposes of American higher education, which has complicated
the social contract that these institutions have made to serve the public good and
masked social inequalities under the façade of capitalist rhetoric.
In an article exploring recruiting methods to attract a diverse college student
body, Pippert et al. (2013) acknowledge that the neoliberal consumer model now
dominates many practices in American higher education. An illustration of using
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 439

neoliberal discourse that these authors discuss is when institutions represent their
profitability or attractiveness with racially or internationally diverse students in their
recruitment materials. In their findings, Pippert and colleagues note, “it is clear that
racial diversity is being used as a commodity in the marketing of higher education
and presenting an image of diversity is more important than accurately portraying the
student body” (p. 275). Scholars argue that inaccurately advertising diversity, or
only advertising certain “diverse” students could hinder the goal to authentically
increase diversity (Pippert et al.), and also impede the social contract and public
agenda that higher education institutions have made with the American government
and its citizens (Gildersleeve et al., 2010), which is particularly pertinent to institu-
tions that have a historic responsibility to serve the public interest (Apple, 2002;
Haring-Smith, 2012; Kuh et al., 2006).
Blackmore (2006) adds that the neoliberal discourse of diversity in higher
education skirts around issues of social justice, affirmative action and redressing
historical inequities. She states that higher education policies are now based on “the
deregulatory aspects of the increasingly managerial and market orientation of
schooling, decentering earlier discourses of more transformatory notions premised
upon reducing inequality and discrimination” (p. 181). Haring-Smith (2012) affirms
that higher education administrators and policymakers have moved away from using
affirmative action legislation or social justice rationales to support increasing diver-
sity. Instead, many researchers, administrators and practitioners have begun to frame
diversity as a commodity that benefits the economy, businesses and universities
(Blackmore, 2006; Haring-Smith; 2012).
Drawing from work that problematizes neoliberal polices in higher education,
Iverson (2007) examines the effects of non-White students being represented as
commodities. She critiques the legitimatized meanings and representations of diver-
sity in “marketplace” higher education policies because she argues that framing
these individuals as commodities may make college less appealing to them. She adds
that commodifying diversity may dissuade or even prevent students from attending
certain institutions. In her work, Iverson also notes that diversity discourses are
drawn upon from the larger discourses in society and shape the perceptions that
administrators, scholars and practitioners hold of diverse groups. It follows that
when non-White students are perceived as commodities in institutional discourses,
the college recruiters at those institutions may use neoliberal language when
recruiting those students, which could drive them away or negatively impact their
college search experience. In addition, recruitment materials that are designed to
market diversity as a commodity may exaggerate the number of non-White students
on campus, which may deter certain students from those schools due to their
misrepresentation (Hartley & Morphew, 2008; Pippert et al., 2013).
Some scholars argue that in order to remain sustainable, social structures, such as
higher education, must follow the broader rules of capitalism, which is organized by
competition (Apple, 2002; Smith & Ota, 2013; Treanor, 2005). According to this
rule, individuals with the greatest financial resources will attain the finest K-12
education, all the while gaining social, cultural and educational capital that will
ultimately help them gain access to the highest quality universities. This shift to a
440 L.

model based on consumer-driven demands reveals how neoliberalism innately

supports unequal access to college and disregards current and historical discrimina-
tion with regard to race, class, gender, sexual identity and ability (Gildersleeve et al.,
2010; Kuh et al., 2006).
Within neoliberalism, colleges operate as businesses driven by competition and
serve students as the ultimate consumers of their product (education) (Gildersleeve
et al., 2010; Kuh et al., 2006). Apple (2002) affirms that within this economic
system, morality and justice are placed in the hands of individual consumers.
Scholars note that allowing consumers to determine what is fair in society is
dangerous because it places all notions of accountability for justice and equity on
a system that is inherently unjust and inequitable (Apple, 2002; Gildersleeve et al.,
2010). As a result, a major problem with the neoliberal discourse is that it legitimizes
the myth of meritocracy and normalizes the discourse as value-free and unbiased.
The neoliberal discourse also ignores the moral consequences of limiting access to
certain segments of our population. Specifically, it fails to present an inclusive
strategy for providing access to non-White and nontraditional students who may
lack the necessary financial resources and social capital necessary to enter a system
which assumes every student has experienced a quality K-12 education and a stable
family with sufficient financial resources (Kuh et al., 2006).
Since a higher education system based on neoliberal principles does not acknowl-
edge racism, an additional critique of the neoliberal discourse is that it supports the
belief that the United States has moved beyond racist and inequitable social policies
(Apple, 2002). Accordingly, neoliberals maintain that racism is no longer an issue
that needs to be addressed through diversity efforts (Blackmore, 2006). In The
Trouble with Diversity: How We Learned to Love Identity and Ignore Inequality,
Walter Benn Michaels (2006) examines diversity in the neoliberal context of higher
education. He argues that the market and, more broadly, American capitalism is an
inherently discriminatory system. Michaels (2006) affirms, “High prices aren’t a
clever way of keeping out the poor. The purpose of charging high prices is to find an
indirect way of excluding those whom the law no longer allows you to exclude”
(p. 64). He cites the American poll tax as evidence proving that prejudice and racist
attitudes in American history have often been hidden under the guise of capitalism
and meritocracy.
Using a critical perspective similar to Michaels’ (2006) reveals that the neoliberal
discourse in higher education overshadows the systemic racism that exists in the
American economic and political systems (Apple, 2002). The neoliberal model
condones decisions, values and actions that have been made through the ostensibly
value-free hand of the market (Apple, 2002; Fish, 2009). Free-market capitalism,
then, is based on the belief that all individuals are consumers who have both free and
equal choice, access and opportunity to attend any college they desire (Gildersleeve
et al., 2010). Analyzing the discourse from a critical perspective problematizes these
types of purportedly value-neutral policies and models in order to uncover assump-
tions and biases that mask discrimination and racism (Kumasi, 2011). Supported by
the myth of meritocracy, color-blind and allegedly race-neutral neoliberal policies
have become increasingly popular in higher education, because they are seen as less
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 441

contentious than race-conscious policies (Chun & Evans, 2015; Patton et al., 2007).
A critical perspective of the neoliberal discourse reveals that unequal participation
rates in proportion to demographic rates, along with lower quality K-12 education
for many non-White and nontraditional students, result in unfair and value-biased
policies supported and maintained by neoliberalism (Kumasi, 2011).
Troubling the logic of the neoliberal discourse shows how educational inequities
are couched within economic principles that mainly benefit White individuals and
others with non-dominant identities (Forman, 2004; Kumasi, 2011). Gildersleeve
et al. (2010) argue that the meaningless rhetoric of freedom, equality and opportunity
within neoliberalism conceals the historical and systemic issues of educational
inequality and inequity. It follows that any diversity efforts or recruitment policies
grounded in neoliberal discourse may perpetuate the inequitable practices that they
are attempting to redress (Gildersleeve et al., 2010; Iverson, 2007). Scholars
displeased with the constraints of neoliberalism have turned to a rationale that
highlights the benefits of adding a diverse student body to higher education without
having to frame diversity as a commodity (Chang, 2013; Chickering & Braskamp,
2009; Hayward & Siaya, 2001; Hu & Kuh, 2003). Recognizing the limits of the
neoliberal discourse they have turned to a different diversity rationale, which we
categorize as the internationalization discourse. The internationalization discourse is
still structured within the context of increasing global diversity and globalization;
however, this discourse focuses less on the economy, corporate American or uni-
versity sustainability and more on how international experiences can benefit college
students.
The Internationalization Discourse of Diversity The internationalization dis-
course frames diversity and diverse experiences as core strategies for the develop-
ment of students in higher education, particularly through an international lens
(Milem et al., 2005; Smith & Ota, 2013). The two common narratives within this
discourse are the need to enhance students’ global awareness through international
experiences and interactions, and the necessity for students to develop intercultural
skills to be successful in a globalized world (Knight, 2004; Smith & Ota, 2013).
Scholars supporting this discourse see it as a way to increase diversity in higher
education and affirm that universities ought to be more accountable for creating
leaders and citizens who can succeed in and contribute to diverse environments
around the world (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Denson & Bowman, 2013).
Advocates of the internationalization discourse at times use a similar justification
compared with the neoliberal rationale for increasing diversity (Moses & Chang,
2006; Smith & Ota, 2013). One major distinction is that in the internationalization
discourse shifts from focusing on how diversity benefits the national economy,
corporate America and the university system, to benefiting students and contributing
to the achievement of a global citizenship perspective (Chickering & Braskamp,
2009). The second key difference in the internationalization discourse is that the
focus moves from domestic diversity to international student diversity and interna-
tional and intercultural education (Bernardo, 2003; Denson & Bowman, 2013).
Accordingly, proponents of this discourse maintain that students must learn the
442 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

intercultural knowledge and skills necessary to effectively engage with diverse

cultures from across the globe (Bernardo, 2003; Chickering & Braskamp, 2009;
Hu & Kuh, 2003; Humphreys, 1999; Moses & Chang, 2006; Pope et al., 2009).
Rooted in a macrosociological and structural perspective, the internationalization
discourse maintains that institutions, including higher education, are controlled and
directed by international political and economic interests and needs (Smith & Ota,
2013). Within this framework, the global undercurrents of political and economic
forces significantly influence every facet of higher education, including diversity
rationales (Ramirez & Meyers, 2000). Smith and Ota (2013) argue that because the
recruitment of international diversity and the incorporation of international experi-
ences are viewed as economically profitable, these types of diversity efforts are
strongly promoted within the internationalization discourse.
Diversity, as defined by the internationalization discourse, highlights interna-
tional cultural identity, values and norms (Blackmore, 2006). Frequently, interna-
tionalization efforts, interaction with international students, and having international
experiences are emphasized within this discourse (Crichton, Paige, Papademetre, &
Scarino, 2004). Other approaches to increasing intercultural skills (and diversity)
within the intercultural field include increased study abroad opportunities and the
augmentation of curricula with international topics in order to suffice diversity goals
(Smith & Ota, 2013). While there is a movement to look at the benefits of interna-
tionalization at home (IaH), which explores experiences with domestic diversity and
immigrant populations, this movement is less common within the internationaliza-
tion discourse (Crichton et al., 2004; Knight, 2004).
Despite recent efforts to combine international, intercultural and domestic multi-
cultural fields into one discourse, in 2012 the AAC&U released a publication
discussing the enduring divide between these elements in higher education. They
argue that this division is largely based on the divergent starting points, motivations,
interests and rationales undergirding internationalization, intercultural development
and efforts regarding domestic diversity (AAC&U, 2012; Knight, 2004; Smith &
Ota, 2013). Hence, in this next section, we explain the various historical contexts of
intercultural education and internationalization and their implications in increasing
diversity within higher education and recruiting.
The Historical Context of Intercultural Education Initially, the call for increased
intercultural skills emerged due to America’s need to prepare its citizens to work
effectively for and with individuals different from themselves while living or
working abroad (Pusch, 2004). Pusch asserts that beginning in the 1950s, the
American government and military supported efforts that promoted intercultural
sensitivity training, couched within the context of international travel and cross-
cultural interactions. Born out of the lack of cross-cultural skills observed within
American diplomats and military officials overseas, practitioners in the field of
international education and intercultural communication studies developed trainings
regarding culture shock and re-entry, micro and macro cultural differences, and
recognition of cultural knowledge and value orientations (Pusch, 2004). While the
origins of intercultural development and training were focused on cross-cultural
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 443

exchange and international cultural communication, over the past few decades, its
principles have become relevant to the higher education sector as well through the
movement known as internationalization. Internationalization is a process where
college campuses incorporate more international components such as study abroad,
recruitment of foreign students and augmenting curriculum to be more
internationally-focused (Begalla, 2013; Chickering & Braskamp, 2009)
Many leaders in higher education recognize the need for students to learn how to
interact with cultural difference (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Knight, 2004). One
way to teach students about intercultural skills is through intercultural education,
training and development (Begalla, 2013; Bennett, 2004). In the context of higher
education, intercultural development is often grounded in Bennett’s developmental
model of intercultural sensitivity (Talbot, 2003). According to intercultural educator,
Milton Bennett (1998), “intercultural competence” describes individuals’ abilities to
maintain “the skills of operating in their own cultures while adding the ability to
operate effectively in one or more other cultures” (p. 29). Bennett also notes that this
concept includes one’s ability to recognize the interplay of power, privilege and
cultural values. Higher education administrators, scholars and practitioners have
begun to develop strategies to advance intercultural skills among students to help
them understand the function of culture in people’s lives, identify the relationship
between cultural characteristics and personality, and successfully adapt to different
cultural situations (Begalla, 2013; Bowman, 2011; Hayward & Siaya, 2001).
The Development of a Global Citizenship Perspective A complementary way of
framing diversity that is linked to the internationalization discourse is the need for
students to develop a global citizenship perspective (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009).
Development of this perspective is often referred to when viewing intercultural
development as a means to creating socially aware and globally conscious citizens.
This argument has been used to justify recruiting a more diverse student body, as
Chickering and Braskamp assert that higher education institutions ought to play a
central role in helping students develop an educated and culturally responsive
worldview, which they coin as a “global citizenship perspective”. These authors
affirm, “The traditional-aged college student needs to develop and internalize a
global perspective into her thinking, sense of identity and relationships with others”
(p. 27). Grounded in classic student development theory, Chickering and Braskamp
opine that attainment of intercultural skills and a global worldview are crucial
components of a quality higher education experience in the twenty-first century.
By adopting a global citizenship perspective, students are expected to be more
tolerant of ambiguity, adaptable to change and culturally flexible (Trueba, 2002).
Championed by scholars and practitioners from the AAC&U, scholars and practi-
tioners in higher education aspire for this worldview to lead to the following
outcomes:
Having students develop a global perspective means helping them develop the capacity to
think with complexity, taking into account multiple cultural perspectives. They need to form
a unique sense of self that is authentic and consistent with their own cultural background,
444 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

and to relate to others who differ with respect and openness. Developing a global perspective
stresses personal and social responsibility that is based on interdependence, identity, pur-
pose, and emotional intelligence. (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009, p. 28)

Many higher education leaders and practitioners have taken on the responsibility to
develop international curricula, diversify their campuses, and integrate diverse
learning and knowledge into their classrooms. These internationalization efforts
provide clear evidence that higher education constituents support the international-
ization discourse as a way to increase diversity on their campuses (Begalla, 2013;
Curris, 2006; Knight, 2004).
Logic Framing the Internationalization Discourse The logic within the interna-
tionalization narrative is that if undergraduate students of the twenty-first century are
not trained to communicate and work effectively across difference, they will not
successfully function in the global economy. They will also struggle to contribute
positively to the diverse social, civic and professional communities in which they are
situated (Denson & Bowman, 2013; Hu & Kuh, 2003; Knight, 2004). Scholars posit
that as the student population continues to diversify the need for inter-racial and
cross-cultural understanding and awareness will become even greater. Recognizing
the major social, cultural and demographic shifts in K-16 student characteristics in
the United States, Chickering and Braskamp (2009) re-conceptualized four of
Chickering’s (1964) seven vectors of student development to include a more global
view. In their newly conceptualized model, Chickering and Braskamp (2009) assert
that it is necessary for students to develop skills that will help them become fluent in
the new language of globalization. This language includes understanding how to
move through different social, professional and community environments success-
fully, while also understanding the effects of one’s actions within the larger global
community. Movement through the following four vectors- from autonomy to
interdependence, establishing identity, developing purpose, and managing emo-
tions- will provide the foundation for students to effectively interact in multicultural
environments (Chickering & Braskamp).
Given the historic, social, and political context of the United States, focusing on
Chickering and Braskamp’s (2009) recently revised vectors will increase students’
skills in becoming engaged global citizens. While these authors do not explicitly
refer to intercultural competence, they affirm that becoming globally responsive and
socially responsible individuals “requires us to become as competent as we can in
understanding persons who differ widely in their political, religious, and spiritual
orientations; in privilege and social class, and in ethnicity and national origin”
(p. 28). They maintain that student development in higher education focused on
their four vectors will accomplish the goal of becoming globally minded citizens.
Proponents of the internationalization discourse assert that participating in higher
education is one of the first times that many students have the chance to consistently
interact and learn from diverse students and experiences (Denson & Bowman, 2013;
Reason, 2015). Thus, scholars stress that it is critical for higher education institutions
to provide students with diverse cultural experiences in order to enhance
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 445

intercultural skills and knowledge, and develop a national and global citizenship
perspective so that they can ultimately function in an increasingly globalized world
(Hu & Kuh, 2003). Clearly, supporting the need for students to develop intercultural
skills and global awareness is a growing rationale used to promote efforts to increase
diversity in higher education (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Hu & Kuh, 2003;
Salisbury et al., 2008; Trueba, 2002). Although this rationale is becoming increas-
ingly common, critics are concerned with several limitations within this discourse
that may negate certain diverse identities and hinder the goal to increase all types of
diversity in higher education (Crichton et al., 2004; Otten, 2003; Paige &
Mestenhauser, 1999).
A Critical Analysis of the Internationalization Discourse Some scholars and
practitioners point to several limitations of the internationalization discourse when
it is used to support increases in diversity. For example, critics contend that the
internationalization discourse focuses too heavily on international experiences to
build intercultural skills, without fully acknowledging the benefits of diverse expe-
riences in one’s own country (Otten, 2003). Others suggest that this discourse
negates issues of social justice and historical inequity (Crichton et al., 2004) and
only highlights the positive elements of diversity (Hartley & Morphew, 2008). The
internationalization discourse is also criticized for using the interest convergence
principle by placing white students at the center of intercultural development
research (Kumasi, 2011), and pushing other types of diverse students to the margins
(Otten, 2003). Finally, the internationalization discourse “exoticizes” diverse iden-
tities and experiences, which showcases elements of neocolonialism (Osei-Kofi,
Torres, & Lui, 2012, p. 397).
Because the intercultural field developed its view of diversity based largely on
international differences related to national and ethnic culture, this discourse origi-
nally used a limited scope of what it considered “diversity”. Since much of the focus
of diversity remains on international experiences, issues of historical inequities in
access, inclusion and racism within the realms of domestic diversity are often
glossed over or seen as a separate issue (Crichton et al., 2004; Smith & Ota,
2013). Paige and Mestenhauser (1999) stress that in order for social justice issues
to be addressed in internationalization, educators must delve into concepts such as
identity, power, language and privilege on a more consistent basis and include
analyses of how power and privilege take shape in communities and relationships
both domestically and internationally.
A focus on only international campus diversity can lead to the exclusion of other
types of diversity, as well as an inadequate representation of what it means to be
diverse. An example of this focus is clearly illustrated in a content analysis of college
viewbooks, where Hartley and Morphew (2008) found:
Diversity is frequently “celebrated,” but ill defined. For example, a number of institutions
referenced the diversity of their student body and then went on to describe their geographic
distribution—“our students hail from 46 states and 23 countries.” (p. 686)
446 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

This analysis can easily be applied to the college recruitment process. For example,
showcasing only an international description diversity to prospective students who
are not international students, but identify as diverse in some way, could have
negative consequences on their college choice process, as it may negate their lived
experience as being diverse (Iverson, 2007). Moreover, if recruiters and college
recruitment materials only emphasize international diversity when discussing cam-
pus diversity, prospective students with other identities may feel estranged or
excluded from that institution’s diversity discourse, and may feel that they would
not fit in (Pippert et al., 2013).
Scholars critical of the internationalization discourse argue that discussions of
intercultural development and global citizenship have minimized and disregarded
the broad range of diversity outside of cultural and national identity (Crichton et al.,
2004; Smith & Ota, 2013). This oversight overlooks a growing population of new
immigrant students and students who are diverse socially, religiously, psychologi-
cally and physically on college campuses (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Haring-
Smith, 2012). These scholars contend that the internationalization discourse needs to
go beyond supplementation of international components of diversity and explore the
value of all types of diversity and intersections of identity in order to satisfy the
needs and demands of multiethnic, multicultural and nontraditional students
(Haring-Smith, 2012; Otten, 2003).
The rationale that shapes the internationalization discourse highlights the fact that
increasing diversity in higher education will better prepare students for an
intercultural world (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Denson & Bowman, 2013).
This view is principally based on the assertion that “monocultural” students will be
working with American immigrants, sojourners or living outside of the United States
(Crichton et al., 2004; Paige & Mestenhauser, 1999). This assumption is exemplified
by the fact that most intercultural scholars and practitioners assert that White
American students need to have study abroad experiences in order to fully develop
intercultural knowledge, tools and awareness (Crichton et al., 2004; Salisbury et al.,
2008). Because of this emphasis, scholars supportive of intercultural development
regularly cite the benefits of intercultural skill building for White students who have
studied abroad. Research within this field is often linked to the attainment of student
learning outcomes for White students (Reason, 2015; Salisbury et al., 2008).
Scrutinizing the language in the internationalization discourse uncovers who is
being represented and who is absent through this lens (Salisbury et al., 2008).
Historically, nontraditional students, including students of color, low socio-
economic students and students with disabilities have not participated in study
abroad opportunities at a rate that is proportionate to White students who study
abroad in college. According to the Institute of International Education (2016), in
2013/2014, of the 304,467 U.S. college students that studied abroad, 74.3% of them
were White students. With a disproportionate number of non-White students taking
advantage of the opportunity to study abroad (Sweeny, 2013), scholars have less
knowledge about how intercultural and international experiences benefit them,
which has also contributed to more of a focus on the benefits of intercultural
development on White students (Denson & Bowman, 2013; Salisbury et al., 2008).
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 447

Haring-Smith (2012) criticizes the internationalization discourse because it lacks

recognition of race and historical racial inequities in its diversity language, which
leads to a color-blind ideology about how to support a diverse college student body.
Patton et al. (2007) assert, “color-blind ideologies ignore the systemic nature of race,
excuse accountability for racial injustices, and promote apathetic, covert acts of
racism, which ultimately place power and privilege with the dominant group”
(p. 43). Applying Patton and colleagues’ assertion to the internationalization dis-
course exposes the potentially harmful effects of this privileged discourse of diver-
sity on students with non-dominant racial identities. These authors note that
administrators and practitioners must critically consider how their allegedly value-
free and color-blind policies, language and practices shape their interactions with
diverse students when talking about diversity, enhancing intercultural skills and
study abroad opportunities.
The internationalization discourse typically emphasizes international diversity,
driving other types of diversity to the periphery (Haring-Smith, 2012). Failing to
name or acknowledge these other kinds of diverse identities may inadvertently
marginalize them (Patton et al., 2007). Questioning how race is (or is not) discur-
sively framed and discussed within internationalization literature can help to expose
how racist and inequitable recruitment efforts and programs may be perpetuating
discriminatory practices by only attracting or promoting certain types of diversity
(Iverson, 2012; Patton et al., 2007). Otten (2003) asserts that intercultural learning
by way of addressing racial inequities and discrimination is currently a tertiary goal
in internationalization, when it ought to be a top priority. Scholars and practitioners,
to include admissions personnel, would benefit from intentionally combining social
justice issues, including racial inequity, with internationalization goals in order to
effectively promote multiple ways of knowing, interpreting and interacting in a
multicultural world (Smith & Ota, 2013), thereby developing more holistic and
inclusive practices to support a diverse student body.
Applying the interest convergence principle to this discourse exemplifies how the
research, values and assumptions of the internationalization discourse focus largely
on White students, more than any other group of students, as the beneficiaries of
intercultural development and international experiences. This point is especially
pertinent when taking into account how scholars structure the intercultural benefits
for White student development when they are exposed to diversity and diverse
experiences (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Denson & Bowman, 2013; Hu &
Kuh, 2003; Humphreys, 1999; Moses & Chang, 2006; Sweeny, 2013). An example
found in intercultural literature is when scholars only focus on the international and
multicultural experiences that compel White students to become more reflective of
their values, beliefs and cultural orientation (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Denson
& Bowman, 2013; Reason, 2015; Ropers-Huilman, Winters, & Enke, 2013). Not
only does this rhetoric leave out non-White students as beneficiaries, but it also
presupposes that only White students need intercultural and multicultural exposure,
assuming that multicultural and international students already have intercultural
skills, which research suggests is not always accurate (Crichton et al., 2004; Denson
& Bowman, 2013).
448 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

A final limitation of the internationalization discourse is that it uses neocolonial-

ism as a way to describe positive experiences with diversity in U.S. higher education.
For example, in a study on racialization in college admissions viewbooks, Osei-Kofi
et al. (2012) argue, “The representations of study abroad as White/’Other’ perpetuate
the exoticization of other cultures and logics of discovery, where literally and
metaphorically, White affluent students from the West ‘discover’ the ‘native’ in
the global South” (p. 397). This discourse places Whites as superior to the diverse
“other”. It also affirms that “diverse” international experiences aid diverse “others”
in becoming healthier, more prosperous and economically advanced, which perpet-
uates Western notions of what is right, good and healthy. These authors suggest that
this neocolonial narrative is translated into a discourse that frames students of color
as inferior “others”.
Universities have often used the internationalization discourse within their insti-
tutions as support for interventions combining White students within a diverse
student body to enhance learning, broaden perspectives and develop intercultural
awareness in an international context (Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006; Guarasci &
Cornwell, 1997). While these developments indicate positive outcomes for White
students, scholars critical of this line of thinking argue that it continues to margin-
alize nontraditional and domestically diverse students by placing the development of
White students at the center (Denson & Bowman, 2013; Kumasi, 2011). As an
alternative, some scholars advocate for a discourse that focuses distinctly on social
justice, historical inequalities and educational disparities with regard to race, gender
and class (Gerald & Haycock, 2006; Haycock, 2006; Hurtado, 2007; Moses &
Chang, 2006). Grounded in Chang’s (2002) “preservation discourse” of diversity,
we turn now to what we call the equity discourse of diversity.
The Equity Discourse of Diversity According to Chang (2002), one of the main
rationales used to support increases in higher education grounds itself in the desir-
ability of educational equity and social justice through affirmative action legislation.
He labels this discourse the preservation discourse and argues that it is based on a
diversity agenda that seeks to increase diversity specifically through race-based
recruiting and admissions policies and practices. With the goal of preserving affir-
mative action policies, scholars and practitioners who promote this type of discourse
advocate for efforts that work toward countering historical inequities, educational
inequalities and continued underrepresentation of historically underrepresented stu-
dents of color (AAC&U, 2012; Beckham, 2008; Chang, 2002; Haring-Smith, 2012;
Haycock, 2006; Hurtado, 2007; Kahlenberg, 2014; Moses & Chang, 2006; Orfield,
2016; Pike, Kuh, & Gonyea, 2007).
The equity discourse uses logic that cites the need for race-based admissions
policies due to disproportionately low college participation rates of students of color
compared with their rising demographic rates (Kahlenberg, 2014; Moses & Chang,
2006). In sum, an equity discourse of diversity frames higher education institutions
as the vehicle for redressing historical injustices and equalizing racial inequities
through targeted admissions policies and procedures (Chang, 2002; Chun & Evans,
2015).
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 449

The Logic of Affirmative Action Within the Equity Discourse Administrators,

scholars and practitioners using the equity discourse assert that disparities in college
participation rates exist largely due to discrimination against racially diverse students
(Banerji, 2006; Chun & Evans, 2015; Haycock, 2006). Affirmative action policies
were implemented in the 1960s to address this discrimination; however, backlash
aimed at the race-based mandates as well as continued legal challenges to affirmative
action policies have stunted increases in participation and access for students of color
(Wise, 2010). According to Astin and Oseguera (2004), criticism against affirmative
action contributes to high attrition rates because it leads to minority students feeling
unwelcome on college campuses. Advocates of affirmative action stress the need for
more deliberate recruitment efforts to attract students of color in order to increase
their rates to an equitable level (Gerald & Haycock, 2006; Gurin, 1999a; Haycock,
2006). According to Chang (2002), within the equity discourse of diversity, admis-
sions divisions are usually charged with the responsibility of increasing diversity. In
an effort to effectively manage enrollment, these units structure their diversity
polices based on serving a certain number of students of color, which would indicate
that students of color are being served on a more equitable level (Humphreys, 1999).
The equity discourse grounds itself in the political milieu of racially charged legal
debates that focus on remedying historical inequities to minoritized groups (Chang,
2002; Chun & Evans, 2015; La Noue, 2003; Moses & Chang, 2006). Beginning with
the decision in 1978 in the court case Regents of the University of California v. Bakke
(438 U.S. 265), affirmative action policies have evolved to address more racial
injustices for people of color in the United States. Chun and Evans provide an
outline of the classical and contemporary purposes of affirmative action stating:
1) [Classical affirmative action] seeks to remedy social bias rather than individual violations;
(2) it mandates race-, ethnic-, and gender-conscious remedies for adverse effects or the
disparate impact of social discrimination; and (3) it seeks to integrate institutions in terms of
race, ethnicity, and gender. In successive phases, affirmative action has evolved from (1) a
mechanism for prohibiting discrimination to (2) compensatory or remedial justice designed
to address prior discrimination to (3) practices designed to address contemporary realities,
such as the pursuit of educational diversity in higher education or as a mechanism for
addressing structural imbalances in the workplace. (pp. 11–12)

Based on the contemporary purposes of affirmative action policies, current logic

and framing of diversity within the equity discourse is “heavily driven on court
rulings” and relies on language of equity as defined by racially diverse participation
rates in proportion to their demographic rates (Chang, 2002, p. 135). Albertine and
McNair (2011) state that “equity” in educational and legal scholarship is defined as
“The creation of opportunities for historically underrepresented populations to have
equal access to and participation in educational programs that are capable of closing
the achievement gaps in student success and completion” (p. 4). Scholars supportive
of the preservation of affirmative action draw on this reasoning to support the claim
that racism continues to play a role in American education and needs to be addressed
through legislation such as affirmative action policies (Chun & Evans, 2015;
Ladson-Billings, 2009; Lopez, 2003).
450 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

Advocates of the equity discourse argue that higher education institutions ought
to be obligated to promote affirmative action policies as a core part of their mission
to help recruit and educate racial minority students in a fair and socially just way
(Chun & Evans, 2015; Patton et al., 2007; Pike et al., 2007). Supported by the belief
that affirmative action should be “preserved”, an emerging role of higher education
leaders and recruiters has been to increase diversity through specially tailored
recruiting and admissions strategies in order to counter a historical narrative of
racism and discrimination directed particularly toward people of color (Chang,
2002; Chun & Evans, 2015; Hurtado, 2007). While the equity discourse has been
valuable in opening the doors to some students of color, in the past several decades,
higher education and legal scholars have become critical of its use in maximizing the
benefits of diversity due to public and legal backlash.
One of most recent court case under scrutiny for its affirmative action admissions
policy was Fisher v. University of Texas, heard by the Supreme Court of the United
States in 2013. In this case, a White female who was denied admission to the
University of Texas, Austin, accused the University of illegally practicing a race-
conscious admissions policy. This case was based on a previous court ruling in
2003’s Grutter v. Bollinger, where the court ruled that race could be considered as a
“narrowly tailored” factor in the admissions review process. The Supreme Court
remanded the Fisher v. University of Texas case, annulling the appellate court’s
ruling in favor of the University in 2009 (Chun & Evans, 2015). The appellate court
once again ruled in favor of the University of Texas, and the Supreme Court decided
to hear the case once more in 2016 (Jacobs, 2015). In a historic moment, the
Supreme Court ruled in favor of using race as one factor among others in the college
admissions process in June 2016 (Fisher v. University of Texas at Austin et al.,
2016). Drawing from equity and academic excellence discourses, the latest ruling by
the Supreme Court supports the opportunity for institutions of higher learning to
intentionally target racial and ethnic minorities in their admissions strategies to
counter historical disparities and discrimination aimed at these students (Ancheta,
2016). Despite the Supreme Court’s ruling, pushback continues from prospective
students, parents and conservatives in regards to race-conscious affirmative action
policies.
A Critical Analysis of the Equity Discourse Several authors highlight key limi-
tations of the equity discourse as it relates to institutionalizing a diversity agenda on
campus (Chang, 2002; Chun & Evans, 2015; Haring-Smith, 2012; Kennedy, 2013).
The first critique is that the equity discourse centers too much on redressing
historical racial inequalities (Chang, 2002; Kahlenberg, 2012). The second critique
is that the equity lens only focuses on one identity characteristic (race), which does
not take into account students’ intersectionality and the variety of benefits a diverse
student body brings to campus (Kahlenberg, 2014; Kumasi, 2011). The final critique
is that this discourse concentrates on admissions instead of foregrounding how
diversity ought to be infused into and supported by all units on campus (Chang,
2002).
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 451

Chang (2002) states that discussing diversity from an equity perspective is limited
because it ignores “transformative aims” that could help challenge the current legal
and educational system on which affirmative action relies (p. 132). A central
drawback within the equity discourse, then, is that it circumvents rather than
challenges discriminatory policies and perceptions about diversity because this
discourse is based on a restricted view of how to add diversity through admissions
policies. Because this discourse mainly focuses on redressing past inequalities for
historically underserved populations it disregards how increasing diversity in college
can enhance intercultural competence (Pope et al., 2009) and increase educational
quality (Denson & Bowman, 2013).
Another major critique of the equity discourse is that its language, research and
scholarship typically center on race, negating other types of identity and character-
istics of diversity (Haring-Smith, 2012). Chang (2002) asserts:
While the general public discourse aimed at preserving the consideration of race in admis-
sions may well prove to be a sound legal defense and perhaps even a persuasive public one, it
often fails to acknowledge more fully the breadth and depth of diversity as practiced on
college campuses. (p. 128)

According to Chang, the limited view of diversity is evidenced by the fact that most
preservation rhetoric is supported by affirmative action legislation that espouses that
increasing representation of students of color to a proportionate level will ultimately
lead to educational equity. In more recent legal debates regarding diversity in higher
education, the necessity to break away from the traditional constructs of racial and
ethnic diversity has emerged as an important move towards developing a more
equitable and inclusive campus that can transform institutionally inequitable policies
and create inclusive systems that include a broader range of minoritized students
(Chun & Evans, 2015; Gutierrez, 2011; Haring-Smith, 2012; Kahlenberg, 2014).
Kahlenberg (2012) asserts that only focusing on race in admissions actually hinders
the creation of a diverse student body. He maintains that new admissions policies
ought to be more cognizant of economic disadvantages as well as racial inequities.
Limiting the view of diversity to certain minority races reinforces assumptions
about what it means to be diverse and who should have access to higher education
through affirmative action policies. This narrow diversity definition impacts students
who may not be classified as diverse within affirmative action parameters, but who
would add to the diversity of the student body in different ways (Chun & Evans,
2015; Ladson-Billings, 2009; Ladson-Billings 1995; La Noue, 2003; Litowitz,
2009). For example, Chun and Evans (2015) cite that affirmative action admissions
policies have historically excluded Asian Americans, limiting the benefits of this
discourse in terms of inclusiveness for all types of student diversity. Moreover,
because the equity discourse is based on legislation that protects only certain racial
identities, college recruiters may categorize non-White students inaccurately due to
the language used by the courts (Kahlenberg, 2014; Patton et al. 2007; Steele, 1997).
These scholars argue that the recognition of all types of diversity, and their inter-
sections, would lead to a discourse that could both challenge discriminatory
452 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

practices and also highlight the benefits of a diverse student body (Brah & Phoenix,
2009; Haring-Smith, 2012).
A final critique of the equity discourse is that the affirmative action policies from
which it draws are typically limited to the admissions stage (Chang, 2002). Chang
states that equity discourse “overlooks the importance of accounting for the evolu-
tion of diversity, thinking beyond admissions, recognizing transformative aims, and
viewing learning more broadly” (pp. 135–136). He also notes that in order for a
university-wide diversity agenda to increase diverse student representation in equi-
table and sustainable ways, it needs to include the historical, structural, psycholog-
ical and behavioral aspects of the college experience (Chang, 2002). Regardless of
how affirmative action policies are implemented, the emphasis on targeting diversity
in admissions inadvertently disregards the fact that other academic and student
affairs units on campus ought to be involved in supporting and promoting diversity
(Chang, 2002; Chun & Evans, 2015; Iverson, 2012).
Ultimately, the key limitations of the equity discourse are that it focuses solely on
redressing historical racial inequalities (Chang, 2002; Denson & Bowman, 2013;
Kahlenberg, 2012), it only provides support for certain racially diverse students
(Kennedy; 2013), and it places the onus of increasing diversity solely on admissions
units (Chang, 2002; Chun & Evans, 2015). Consequently, this discourse misses out
on ways in which the wide range of diversity and diversity efforts beyond admis-
sions could be useful in making universities equitable, inclusive and academically
excellent (Brah & Phoenix, 2009; Chang, 2002; Denson & Bowman, 2013; Kumasi,
2011). Given the limitations of the equity discourse, some scholars have worked to
advocate for the benefits of diversity through the academic excellence discourse of
diversity (Chun & Evans, 2015). The academic excellence discourse is sometimes
used to supplement or replace the equity discourse because it is seen as a more
transformative way to create a diverse student body in higher education (Blimling,
2001; Chang, 2002; Denson & Bowman, 2013; Milem et al., 2005). As such, in the
next section, we describe the tenets and the discursive elements that structure the
academic excellence discourse.
The Academic Excellence Discourse Often described as the original “diversity
rationale”, the academic excellence discourse “requires the university to prove that
White students and all other students gain educational benefits from policies that
were intended to address the long history and tradition of White preference” (Chun
& Evans, 2015, p. 26). Within this discourse Milem et al. (2005) maintain that by
framing “diversity as a process” that can lead to academic excellence for all students,
it can be institutionalized as a central element of learning in higher education (p. iv).
Advocates of the academic excellence rationale argue that diversity should no longer
be viewed as a supplemental add-on, but rather as an integral component of an
invaluable educational experience for every student (Chang, 2013; Gurin, 1999a,
1999b; Humphreys, 1999; Milem et al., 2005). Research supporting this discourse
developed in part due to backlash against affirmative action legislation (Chang,
2007; Chun & Evans, 2015). Scholars and practitioners were seeking a way to
prove the value and importance of diversity that did not offend or challenge the
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 453

status quo as harshly as affirmative action policies seemed to (Chang, 2002).

Consequently, advocates of affirmative action conducted a variety of studies to
provide evidence of the educational benefits of diversity on campus (Ancheta,
2016; Beckhan, 2008; Chun & Evans, 2015; Gurin, 1999a).
One important grounding example of scholarship within the academic excellence
discourse is Patricia Gurin’s (1999a) research, which focuses on the value of added
diversity in postsecondary education. Drawing from student development, psycho-
logical and sociological theories, Gurin examined how diversity enhances the quality
of education for colleges and universities in the United States. For example, in
Selections from the Compelling Need for Diversity in Higher Education: Expert
Report of Patricia Gurin, Gurin (1999a) states:
The empirical analyses presented later in this Report directly test the theoretical arguments I
am advancing for the impact of racial diversity on student learning. All of these analyses
confirm that racial and ethnic diversity is especially likely to increase effortful, active,
engaged thinking when universities set up the conditions that capitalize on these positive
environmental features, namely when they offer courses that deal explicitly with racial and
ethnic diversity and when they provide a climate in which students from diverse back-
grounds frequently interact with each other. (p. 36)

In further research to support the legal case for the academic excellence discourse,
scholars have extended Gurin’s research, showing how diversity can be a value-
added opportunity that cultivates active and critical thinking and contributes to the
recognition and appreciation of cultural values, beliefs and ideologies (Ancheta,
2016; Chun & Evans, 2015; Denson & Bowman; 2013; Denson & Chang, 2009;
Wells, Duran & White, 2008). Also within this discourse is an emphasis on how
domestic diversity in the classroom and on campus can broaden attitudes, awareness,
knowledge and skills of White students (Ancheta, 2016; Bowman, 2011; Pope et al.,
2009).
Scholars and administrators backing the academic excellence discourse critique
the neoliberal and social justice arguments that support increases in diversity
because those rationales claim that the mere presence of diversity is enough to add
to educational quality (Denson & Bowman, 2013; Gurin, 1999a, 1999b). Proponents
of the academic excellence discourse argue that intentional efforts to build cultural
competence and learn about difference are necessary to glean benefits from the
presence of a diverse student body (Bowman, 2011; Chang, 2013; Gurin, 1999a;
Hu & Kuh, 2003; Pettigrew, 1998). In addition, advocates of academic excellence
opine that framing the diversity rationale as simply a way to redress historical
inequities fails to highlight how adding diversity to campus can enhance intercultural
skills and educational learning. Similar to the internationalization discourse, the
academic excellence rationale places a focus on intercultural skill development
largely for White students so that they can succeed in an increasingly multicultural
world (Chickering & Braskamp, 2009; Humphreys, 1999; Kennedy, 2013; Milem
et al., 2005).
Supporters of the academic excellence rationale for increases in diversity assert
that structured interventions are necessary in order for students to truly benefit from
454 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

diversity (Ancheta, 2016; Bowman, 2011; Gurin, 1999a, 1999b). For example, Hu
and Kuh (2003) affirm that White students must have diverse experiences and
interact with diverse others in order to fully benefit from the presence of cultural
difference. In their study of diverse student experiences and personal development,
Hu and Kuh (2003) establish three levels of diverse experiences. Structural diversity
represents the demographic compositions of the student population on campus;
classroom diversity represents the quantity of individual and cultural diversity in
the curriculum; and interactional diversity embodies the purposeful contact and
interaction of diverse students. It is largely through these structured experiences
that students benefit from increases in diversity (Denson & Bowman, 2013).
In his chapter “Engaging White students on Multicultural Campuses”, Reason
(2015) argues that even though colleges are more diverse than ever before, White
students still require more intercultural development and training regarding how to
interact with diversity and identities that are different from their own. He cites a
breadth of research indicating that working with racially and ethnically diverse
students enhances intercultural maturity and assists with identity development for
White students (King & Baxter Magolda, 2005; Reason, 2015). Scholars focusing on
the interactions of students of color and White students in educational environments
have found that structured diversity interventions, such as cross-cultural intergroup
dialogue and racial identity development activities in multicultural education clas-
ses, are beneficial in cultivating engaged thinking and understanding of difference
for White students (King & Baxter-Magolda, 2005). More recently, research has
been conducted to demonstrate that interactions across many different social, cul-
tural, racial and ideological boundaries benefits all students, not just Whites (Bow-
man, 2011; Chun & Evans, 2015; Denson & Bowman, 2013). Many higher
education scholars assert that the academic excellence discourse has moved the
diversity rationale in a positive direction within the field of higher education
(Bowman, 2011; Chang, 2013; Chun & Evans, 2015; Gurin, 1999a; Gurin, Nagda,
& Lopez, 2004; Hu & Kuh, 2003; Orfield, 2016). However, some scholars feel this
discourse focuses too much on students of color and places White students as the
main beneficiaries of increased diversity (Chang, 2002; Haring-Smith, 2012). We
now turn to a critical analysis of this discourse to further investigate these
limitations.
A Critical Analysis of the Academic Excellence Discourse While the academic
excellence discourse addresses several shortcomings of the demographic, neoliberal,
internationalization and equity discourses supporting increases in student diversity
in higher education, a critical lens sheds light on some its limitations. Similar to the
other discourses, a substantial weakness in this rationale is that the majority of
academic excellence research is limited to a focus on the benefits of adding domestic
diversity (students of color) to predominantly White campuses (Chun & Evans,
2015; Humphreys, 1999; Milem et al., 2005). Given the fact that “diversity” has
come to include a broader range of identities (sexual orientation, socio-economic
status, religious background, ability), and the intersections of these identities, this
discourse clearly excludes a significant portion of nontraditional students who are
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 455

attempting to gain equal access to and participation in higher education (Haring-

Smith, 2012; Milem et al., 2005).
While “diversity” originated with race and ethnicity as a grounding focus
(Michaels, 2006), one of the ways it has become more inclusive is by recognizing
the intersections of identities and how they overlap with each other within the
spectrum of diversity (Haring-Smith, 2012). Kumasi (2011) maintains that scholars
who challenge the traditional definition of diversity “recognize the intersectionality
of race and racism with other forms of subordination and recognize that people
belong to more than one demographic or cultural group and are consequently
affected by disenfranchisement or inequality in more than one way” (p. 210).
Thus, without including all types of individuals within the umbrella of diversity,
the academic excellence discourse cannot fully acknowledge the identities and lived
experiences of a diverse student body. It follows that if recruiters use the academic
excellence discourse during recruitment, the intermittent inclusion and implicit
exclusion of certain types of diversity could actually alienate some students or
stereotype those who do not fall within the traditional confines of racial, ethnic or
cultural diversity (Haring-Smith, 2012; Ladson-Billings, 2009; Litowitz, 2009).
Rather than following exclusive and traditional definitions of diversity, Haring-
Smith stresses that this term should not be restricted to certain diverse identities
because diversity benefits everyone who lives and works in a globalized world.
Similar to the internationalization discourse, a major critique of this argument is
that it centers on Whites as the main beneficiaries of interaction with diversity on
campus (Kennedy, 2013). Placing whites at the center is reflective of the interest
convergence principle, which posits that White people will only support and pro-
mote policies and practices that benefit them (Kumasi, 2011). Scholars argue that
identifying Whites as the focus of diversity efforts can invalidate and marginalize the
experiences and identities of non-White students and can be damaging to efforts to
increase diversity in sustainable ways (Chun & Evans, 2015; Hooks, 2000).
A major critique of this kind of research is that it assumes that White students are
from homogenous environments and need experiences with non-White students to
raise their cultural awareness and academic achievement, which is not always
accurate. An additional critique is that a suitable rationale for increasing diversity
on campus must lead to benefiting White students (Chun & Evans, 2015; Kennedy,
2013). Ultimately, the academic excellence discourse predicates the interests and
development of White students at the forefront of the dialogue about the benefits of
diversity in higher education. Critical of marginalizing diverse students within
diversity discourse, some scholars stress that in order to truly validate and appreciate
the perspectives and experiences of all those in a diverse student body, diversity
efforts must be centered around those individuals who hold non-dominant identities,
not on the White student population (Denson & Bowman, 2013; Hooks, 2000).
A final criticism of the academic excellence discourse is that its framing and
scholarship are based on an ahistorical view of American higher education, which
indirectly minimizes historical inequities in regard to racial access and inclusion
(Kennedy, 2013; Kumasi, 2011). Hackman (2005) asserts, “Ahistorical
456 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

information. . . leaves students with a limited understanding of the political, social,

and economic forces and patterns that create and sustain the oppressive social
dynamics students are contesting and transforming” (p. 105). Many scholars and
practitioners moved away from the equity discourse because it did not take into
account the benefits of diversity on college campuses (Bowman, 2011; Chang,
2002). In the process of developing a more inclusive and constructive discourse to
support student diversity, scholars strategically shifted their focus from solely
redressing racial inequities to researching how diversity fosters academic excellence
(Chun & Evans, 2015). Rather than combining social justice with academic excel-
lence, the shift from supporting the equity discourse to supporting the academic
excellence argument bifurcated them from each other. By creating two discourses,
the research separated issues of social justice, which supported the equity discourse,
from institutional transformation, which supported the academic excellence dis-
course (Humphreys, 1999; Kennedy, 2013). Thus, the move to the academic excel-
lence discourse refocused the diversity rationale toward a less transformative and
more ahistorical lens as it let go of its focus on social justice (Chun & Evans, 2015).
An overview of the literature on diversity in higher education demonstrates the
value and necessity of having a diverse student body in higher education. This
discussion also reveals the benefits, challenges and tensions that frame each major
diversity discourse (Chun & Evans, 2015; Moses & Chang, 2006). Scholars argue
that there is potential to ameliorate some of the conflict related to increasing diversity
by aligning diversity rationales and their discourses with the common values of
equity and inclusion and the educational outcomes of academic excellence
(Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006; Hurtado, 2007; Milem, et al., 2005). Given the
constraints of the previous discourses described in this chapter, in the 1990s many
administrators, scholars and practitioners pushed for the development of a demo-
cratic, multicultural and inclusive educational model of higher education that aligned
with the changing demographics of the United States (AAC&U, 1995; Chun &
Evans, 2015). In the next section, we shift to a discussion of a final diversity
discourse used by higher education scholars, administrators and practitioners,
which we categorize as the pluralistic democratic education discourse.
The Pluralistic Democratic Education Discourse of Diversity The pluralistic
democratic education discourse developed in large part due to critiques of the
monocultural democratic education model of the twentieth century, which supported
the needs and aspirations of a highly homogeneous college student population
(Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006; Gutmann, 1987; Haring-Smith, 2012; Moses &
Chang, 2006). This discourse has also developed in response to some of the
limitations of the other diversity rationales mentioned in this chapter (Chun &
Evans, 2015; Moses & Chang, 2006), and aligns with the evolution of what diversity
means in reference to current U.S. political, cultural, societal and legal contexts
(Haring-Smith, 2012). A main objective of the pluralistic democratic education
framework is to utilize the constructive elements of some of the major diversity
discourses as building blocks in the development of a new type of diversity discourse
that is more inclusive and equitable (Haring-Smith, 2012; Hurtado, 2007).
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 457

The pluralistic democratic education discourse focuses on the achievement of

equity in the broadest range of “visible and invisible diversity on campus” as well as
the attainment of equal participation and inclusion (Haring-Smith, 2012, p. 13).
Haring-Smith argues:
We need to celebrate both the visible and invisible diversity of our campuses so that we can
prepare future citizens to engage in productive, respectful civic discourse with those who
disagree with them. Without this kind of commitment to multiple aspects of diversity, our
colleges will not be able to produce the kinds of citizens who will keep our democracy
vibrant. (p. 13)

The pluralistic democratic discourse evolved from a more monocultural democratic

discourse of diversity (Bowman, 2011; Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006; Guarasci &
Cornwell, 1997; Shugart, 2013). Here, we investigate the logic and discursive
elements that scholars use to describe a more inclusive and critical discourse of
diversity, which the literature often refers to as pluralistic democratic education.
The Logic and Evolution of the Pluralistic Democratic Discourse Traditional
democratic education discourse was an established way of framing the purposes,
policies and practices of American higher education. This discourse promoted
meritocracy and the education of White, middle-class, male students for the purposes
of creating a citizenry and workforce to support the United States (Guarasci &
Cornwell, 1997; Gutmann, 1987). Guarasci and Cornwell assert, “Insofar as liberal
education was designed to prepare students to assume citizenship in the United
States, it perpetuated a monocultural and androcentric model of democracy and an
ethnocentric form of patriotism” (p. 159). While supportive of intellectual diversity,
traditional democratic education discourse also perpetuated social hierarchies by
limiting access for gender, class, racial and ethnic minorities (AAC&U, 1995;
Gutmann, 1987).
Critical of traditional democratic education discourse, Steele (1994) challenges
the belief that diversity is a value-added concept within the canopy of traditional
tenets of American democracy. Steele opines that diversity represents a façade of
educational equality within democratic education, covering up disparities, instead of
addressing them in ways that would or could ever lead to educational equity.
Guarasci and Cornwell (1997) concur with Steele’s critique of traditional democratic
education discourse as it applies to higher education. They affirm that the new
discourse of diversity ought to challenge systems of privilege and power in critical
and transparent ways. Scholars supportive of pluralistic democratic education argue
that a strong element of this discourse emphasizes the re-visioning of the traditional
education model in higher education with a specific focus on integration of domestic
and international diversity (Haring-Smith, 2012).
In her influential book Democratic Education, Gutmann (1987) also applies a
critical lens to the traditional democratic education discourse in higher education.
Critiquing the traditional college admissions paradigm, she states, “A meritocratic
system cannot be based on grades and test scores, because grades and test scores
458 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

cannot measure many of the qualities relevant to the academic life of a university”
(p. 200). Gutmann goes on to argue that the broad range of student diversity
enhances university social, cultural, political and academic life, but these enhance-
ments are virtually impossible to calculate with current admissions measures. She
maintains that higher education institutions have the ability to restructure their
language about success and academic achievement by changing their allegedly
meritocratic admissions policies to examine both quantifiable indicators and also
qualitative evidence of success through student experiences, backgrounds and char-
acter. This process can take place in the context of a revised version of democratic
education that addresses the broad range of diversity in the United States. Ultimately,
Gutmann stresses that in a truly multicultural democracy, diversity is essential, and
universities will only flourish by including diversity of many kinds.
In addition to admissions policies, critics of the traditional democratic education
discourse argue that universities must question all established policies and norms in
order to transform the discourses regarding the benefits of diversity to a more value-
added and inclusive paradigm (AAC&U, 1995; Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006;
Guarasci & Cornwell, 1997; Gutmann, 1987; Haring-Smith, 2012). Advocates for
a version of democratic education that is more inclusive and pluralistic maintain that
for individuals to thrive in an intercultural world, administrators, faculty, student
affairs professionals and students need to dismantle the curriculum, pedagogies and
university structures that enact and promote the traditional monocultural view of
democracy (AAC&U, 1995; Guarasci & Cornwell; 1997; Gutierrez, 2011; Lee &
Dallman, 2008). Colleges and universities can accomplish this goal by stepping
beyond the outdated homogenous and traditional Eurocentric research paradigms
and teaching and learning methods, which originally relied upon White scholars’
perspectives (Gutmann, 1987; Kumasi, 2011). By valuing non-Western paradigms,
counter-stories, qualitative ways that diversity bolsters academic excellence,
intercultural development and global awareness, colleges and universities can
more authentically frame diversity discourse in the context of a pluralistic democ-
racy (Bowman, 2011; Guaracsi & Cornwell, 1997; Gutmann, 1987; Kumasi, 2011).
One way to enact a pluralistic democratic education discourse is to de-center the
focus of diversity on a particular group or type of identity. This strategy would
include an intersectional approach, which would shift the emphasis of diversity from
individual hierarchies of identities to an inclusion discussion of the interplay and
relevance of all identities in a connected web of oppression, privilege and power
(Hooks, 2000). Scholars affirm that the entire higher education system must be
transformed to support multiple views of identity and embrace inclusion of different
viewpoints, including critical inquiry, student voice, political engagement, experi-
ential learning and equal participation (Chang, 2013; Chun & Evans, 2015; Haring-
Smith, 2012). Proponents of the pluralistic democratic education narrative maintain
that this new framing supports pluralistic democratic principles in a globalized and
diverse world by incorporating domestically and internationally diverse viewpoints
and addressing historical inequities (Guarasci & Cornwell; 1997; Gutierrez, 2011;
Phillips, 2014).
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 459

For decades, scholars in higher education have recognized the integral role that
colleges and universities play in developing and educating the future leaders of the
nation and the world (AAC&U, 1995; Chun & Evans, 2015; Kahlenberg, 2014).
Focusing on public land-grant universities, in 2006, president of the Education Trust,
Katie Haycock, asserted that given their historic and democratic mandate, public
institutions ought to be the forerunners in promoting and providing accessible and
quality educational opportunities to all American students. From a pluralistic dem-
ocratic education perspective, this argument can be extended to both public and
private institutions, as Gutmann (1987) argues:
Universities are more likely to serve society well not by adopting the quantified values of the
market but by preserving a realm where the nonquantifiable values of intellectual excellence
and integrity, and the supporting moral principles of nonrepression and nondiscrimination,
flourish. (p. 183)

Democracy, then, as it is defined within the context of the pluralistic democratic

education discourse, includes equal value of people, respect and opportunity to
freely participate in all aspects of society, including education (AAC&U, 1995;
Bowman, 2011; Cornwell & Stoddard, 2006).
In the traditional democratic education paradigm a focus on intellectual diversity
and on developing citizens who had similar backgrounds, beliefs and values was
predominant. Accordingly, well into the 1960s, higher education institutions
restricted access for many racial and ethnic groups, not to mention other types of
minority groups (AAC&U, 1995). In contrast, the pluralistic democratic education
discourse emphasizes naming the strength, value and benefit of bringing together a
diversity of opinions, ideologies and identities within a common democratic lan-
guage of equality and justice in higher education (Gutierrez, 2011). A primary
example of this type of pluralistic democratic language is represented in the second
edition of The Drama of Diversity and Democracy: Higher Education and American
Commitments report, where the Association for American Colleges and Universities
asked its members to openly commit themselves to diversity as a response “to a
vision of democracy that is deliberative, inclusive and fair, and that seeks to address
the problems of our day—poverty, racism, hyper-segregation, gender inequalities,
homophobia, and religious hatreds” (Gutierrez, 2011, p. XX). In the report, the
AAC&U put forth a notion of diversity that was not only a social or economic
imperative, but also the ultimate strategy for putting into practice the principles of a
pluralistic democratic education.
Advocates of the pluralistic democratic education discourse recognize that deal-
ing with difference, redressing historical inequities and moving towards a value-
added paradigm of diversity will be a difficult but necessary shift in order to live in a
truly just “multicultural democracy” (Schneider, 1999, para. 4). Scholars within this
discourse often cite research describing the value and necessity of difference and the
need for diverse perspectives in higher education (Chang, 2013; Gutierrz, 2011).
They maintain that linking the dominant diversity rationales with a basic desire and
need to understand our common humanity could prove to be an effective way to
460 L. Hakkola and R. Ropers-Huilman

enhance diversity in higher education (Gutierrez, 2011; Gutmann, 1987; Hurtado,

Dey, & Gurin, 2003).
Recognizing the limits of traditional democratic discourse and considering the
growing diversity of the American student body, scholars have developed a more
inclusive discourse that is still grounded in democracy, but focused more on equal
access and participation in higher education (Gutierrez, 2011). For example, in
support of diversity efforts in the seminal University of Michigan Law School
case, Gratz et al., v. Bollinger, Gurin (1999a) states, “Education plays a foundational
role in a democracy by equipping students for meaningful participation. Students
educated in diverse settings are better able to participate in a pluralistic democracy”
(p. 37). Basing this statement on sociological, psychological and student develop-
ment theories and research, scholars note the necessity of diverse perspectives,
beliefs and experiences in college in order to develop critical and engaged thinking
skills that students will need to function in a diverse world (Chun & Evans, 2015).
A Critical Analysis of the Pluralistic Democratic Discourse Milem et al. (2005)
emphasize that the pluralistic democratic education discourse includes the principles
of participation, engagement and support by everyone on campus. These authors note
that understanding diversity as a collective ought to be the goal rather than focusing on
individualistic notions of what it means to be one diverse person. They also argue that
diversity built upon these tenets would benefit all students, faculty, administrators,
student affairs professionals and the broader community (Milem et al., 2005). While
the pluralistic democratic discourse has optimistic aspirations, similar to other dis-
courses, it remains a lofty ideal that has not yet been fully accomplished.
Milem et al. (2005) stress that in the pluralistic democratic education discourse of
diversity no single minority or majority group would be responsible for supporting
or promoting diversity; rather, support for diversity would be reinforced by all
constituents of higher education. However, not all people construct diversity dis-
courses or rationales to increase diversity in the same ways, especially considering
that this discourse is focused on dimensions of diversity from a U.S. centric per-
spective. Thus, even with this discourse, there are potential conflicts and tensions
regarding how to talk about diversity, who ought to be responsible for it and who
should be included in this term. Consequently, while the pluralistic democratic
education discourse addresses many of the limitations of other discourses discussed
in this paper, it may not be the panacea that scholars are hoping will create a fair and
inclusively diverse college student body.

9.1.10 Conclusion

Discourses of diversity are informing how colleges and universities recruit and
support a diverse student body, and how they structure their efforts to redress social
inequalities, fulfill their democratic mission, remain economically viable and suc-
cessfully prepare students for a globalized world. In this chapter we discussed the
9 A Critical Exploration of Diversity Discourses in Higher Education. . . 461

complexity present in how these discourses are constructed and mobilized in higher
education as well as their perceived importance as a strategic goal (Hurtado et al.,
2003; Milem et al., 2005; Pope et al., 2009; White, 2015).
One of the main findings from our analysis of diversity as discourse is that scholars,
administrators and student affairs professionals use distinctive narratives to support
(or potentially reject) the objective to recruit a diverse student body. Hence, it is
important to consider how these individuals interpret and express their understandings
of diversity when discussing prospective student recruitment, participation and per-
sistence (Patton et al., 2007; Smith & Ota, 2013; Thomas & Thurber, 1999).
Using a CRT lens demonstrates that these discourses may exclude people with
certain identities and stereotype particular types of students, which may negatively
affect their college choice process and also lead to a stigmatization of diverse
students. CRT scholars stress that in order for inclusive diversity programming
and practices to be successful, language that describes diversity must accurately
embody and represent the identities of those being discussed. Despite the limitations
of diversity discourses highlighted through our application of CRT, the latest
Supreme Court ruling allowing for race to be considered in the admissions process
is a promising step on the journey toward inclusive excellence in U.S. higher
education (Orfield, 2016). As scholars and practitioners, we must continue to
scrutinize the value-laden and limited language we place on diversity and instead
create space for discourses that focus on students with a wide range of needs,
expectations and backgrounds in order to support the growing diversity of college
students today (Patton et al., 2007 Zemsky & Sanlo, 2005).

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Chapter 10
Developmental Education: The Evolution
of Research and Reform

Shanna Smith Jaggars and Susan Bickerstaff

10.1 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research

and Reform

Almost two-thirds of entering community college students and over one-third of

students entering less-selective four year colleges are judged as lacking in the math
and language skills necessary for success in college-level courses (Complete College
America, 2016; Chen & Simone, 2016). Traditionally, these students have been
referred to “remedial” or “developmental education” programs, which are designed
to bring students’ math, reading, and writing skills up to the college’s expectations of
entry-level students, at an estimated cost of $6.7 billion per year in the community
college sector alone (Scott-Clayton, Crosta, & Belfied, 2014). In this chapter, we
review the traditional system’s structure and effectiveness, provide a history of first-
and second-wave reforms and research on those reforms, delineate the teaching and
learning issues that must be addressed in order to further advance the reform
movement, and discuss an incipient third wave of reform.

10.2 The Traditional Developmental Education System

Until a decade ago, most open-access and less-selective colleges followed an

approach to developmental education that is now framed as the “traditional”
approach (many colleges still follow this approach today). Under the traditional

S. S. Jaggars (*) · S. Bickerstaff

Community College Research Center, Teachers College, Columbia University, New York, NY,
USA
e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 469

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_10
470 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

approach, students take short, standardized placement exams designed to measure

skill levels in reading, writing, and mathematics (Fields & Parsad, 2012; Hodara,
Jaggars, & Karp, 2012). Few colleges supplement the exams with additional infor-
mation (such as the student’s performance in the given subject in high school) – 21%
use such criteria in math, and only 13% use them in reading (Fields & Parsad, 2012).
Taking math as an example, students who score above a college-determined
cutoff on the placement exam are viewed as ready to take college-level math and
science courses, while students who score below the cutoff are referred to develop-
mental math. Many colleges also use secondary cutoffs to sort developmental
students into different levels of need; for example, while a student scoring barely
below the math cutoff may need to take only a developmental algebra course, a
student scoring far below the cutoff may need to take a sequence of three courses
(such as arithmetic, pre-algebra, and algebra) before being allowed to proceed to a
college-level math course. Each developmental course is typically one semester in
length, meets for 3–5 h per week, and costs the same tuition as a regular college
course. Despite their full-tuition cost, most traditional developmental courses carry
only “institutional credits” – they count as regular courses for financial aid purposes,
but they do not count toward college-level degree requirements.
In theory, students will proceed through the sequence of courses, gain a variety of
foundational skills, and perform well in their first college-level (or “gatekeeper”)
math and English courses, as well as in introductory courses such as biology, history,
and sociology, which require strong math, critical reading, or writing skills. And
indeed, students who successfully complete traditional sequences and move on to
gatekeeper courses perform just as well as students who are deemed “college-ready”
by the placement exam (Attewell, Lavin, Domina, & Levey, 2006; Bahr, 2010).
Unfortunately, however, the vast majority of students referred to traditional devel-
opmental education sequences never make it to gatekeeper courses (Bailey, Jeong, &
Cho, 2010). Those who complete the sequence are therefore rather exceptional, and
it is not clear whether they might have performed quite well even in the absence of
developmental education (Bailey, Jaggars, & Scott-Clayton, 2013). Given the
expenditures of student money and time (as well as taxpayer dollars), researchers
and policymakers around the turn of the twenty-first century began to ask whether
the performance gains from developmental education were worth the investment.
Below, we briefly review evidence regarding the ineffectiveness of the traditional
system, as well as research documenting the reasons for its poor performance.

10.2.1 The Traditional System’s Ineffectiveness

To assess the effectiveness of developmental education, most researchers have

focused on the extent to which it helps underprepared students to successfully
complete the first levels of English Composition and college-level mathematics
within a given span of time. For example, only 16% of community college students
referred to developmental mathematics complete a college-level math course within
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 471

three years (Bailey, Jaggars, & Jenkins, 2015). While these results seem dismal, they
do not necessarily indicate that developmental mathematics was unhelpful: These
students might have performed even more poorly in the absence of developmental
supports. In order to determine whether developmental education was indeed help-
ful, researchers need a comparison group of similarly-underprepared students who
did not undergo the program; yet in most colleges, this comparison group does not
exist, given that all underprepared students are referred to the college’s develop-
mental program.
Researchers have tackled this problem by applying a “regression discontinuity”
(RD) approach, which focuses on students who score within a few points of the
college-ready cutoff score on the college’s placement exam. Students who score a
few points below the cutoff (and are thus referred to developmental education) are
virtually identical to those who score a few points above the cutoff (and thus may
proceed directly to gatekeeper courses). For example, the COMPASS algebra
module has a standard error of measurement of 8 points, meaning that a score of
45 is not distinguishable with 95% confidence from a score of 30 (ACT, Inc., 2006,
p. 92). In multiple studies, researchers have found that students just above and below
remediation cutoffs are also indistinguishable from one another in terms of key
pre-existing characteristics such as race, gender, age, high school achievement, and
other test scores (Bailey et al., 2013).
Focusing on this around-the-cutoff population, RD analyses typically also
include controls for student background characteristics and placement scores, and
compare between similar students referred to developmental education versus
college-level work. In the absence of developmental education, these two groups
of students would be equally likely to progress to and succeed in college-level
courses. To be effective, a developmental education program would need to dem-
onstrate that it helps just-below-cutoff students perform better than their just-above-
cutoff peers who directly entered college-level coursework. That is, those referred to
a developmental course should overcome the semester lost in developmental edu-
cation by earning better grades and proceeding more quickly toward a degree. Yet
across a variety of rigorous studies, developmental students never made up for the
time lost in their first semester; their academic outcomes were no better, or some-
times even worse, than similar students who did not take developmental education
(Calcagno & Long, 2008; Martorell & McFarlin, 2007/2011; Dadgar, 2012; Scott-
Clayton & Rodriguez, 2012; Xu, 2016). In some rigorous studies, a few positive
results have been scattered among null and negative results (e.g., Bettinger & Long,
2009), but there has been no study showing consistently positive results for the
traditional system of developmental education (Jaggars & Stacey, 2014).
Supporters of the traditional system rebut such studies by arguing that most
developmental students do not score within a few points of their college’s college-
ready cutoff score, and therefore the regression discontinuity studies’ results are not
generalizable to the larger developmental population (Goudas & Boylan, 2012).
However, college-ready cutoff scores vary widely across institutions, and therefore
also vary from study to study. For example, using the COMPASS algebra exam,
Boatman and Long (2010) examined a statewide college-level cutoff of 50, while
472 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

Scott-Clayton & Rodriguez (2012) examined a college-level cutoff that varied from
27 to 40 across the colleges in their sample. In addition, several regression discon-
tinuity studies have considered very poorly scoring students by focusing on lower-
level cutoffs (Boatman & Long, 2010; Dadgar, 2012; Melguizo, Bos, Ngo, Mills, &
Prather, 2016; Xu, 2016). For example, Boatman and Long examined students at the
cutoff between top-level and mid-level developmental math (a COMPASS algebra
cutoff of 28), between mid- level and lowest-level developmental math
(a COMPASS pre-algebra/arithmetic cutoff of 30), between upper-level and
lower-level reading (a COMPASS reading cutoff of 53), and between upper-level
and lower-level writing (a COMPASS writing cutoff of 28). In most cases, such
analyses yield null effects. Similarly, in a propensity-score matching study (Hodara
& Jaggars, 2014), the authors focused on very poorly scoring students in math
(scoring between 17 to 26 on COMPASS pre-algebra/arithmetic) and in writing
(very low scores on the system’s written-essay exam) whose colleges required
longer versus shorter developmental sequences for students in that range of scores;
they found that students assigned to shorter sequences were more likely to eventually
complete college-level math and English.
Proponents of the traditional system also point out that the students of real
concern are not those near the top of the developmental spectrum, but those with
very obvious academic deficits: students who don’t understand fractions or percent-
ages, who can’t read college-level textbooks, or who write incoherent sentences
riddled with grammatical and spelling errors. It seems self-evident that these stu-
dents cannot succeed in college without intensive help, and multiple developmental
education courses would seem to provide that help. Yet, as we pointed out above,
many students who are referred to multiple courses never complete them. For
example, a study examining 57 community colleges in seven states focused on
students who were referred to the third level of developmental math, meaning that
they needed to complete three developmental courses as well as the college-level
math course before they could earn a degree. Only 17% of these students completed
their developmental math sequence within three years, and of those who completed
the sequence, only 53% enrolled in and completed college-level math in the same
timeframe (Bailey, Jeong, & Cho, 2010). The situation was not much brighter for
those enrolled in the lowest levels of reading: 29% completed the sequence and of
those, 55% completed college-level English.

10.2.2 Factors Impeding the Success of the Traditional

System

Why are the results for the traditional developmental education system so dismal?
Research points to at least three factors: placement tests that refer some students to
developmental education when they could be successful in college-level courses,
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 473

lengthy course sequences, and instructional approaches that fail to motivate and
engage students in relevant and challenging material.
Placement Most community colleges use standardized tests as the sole measure of
placement because the process is highly efficient: the exams can be administered
quickly, scored by computer, and almost instantaneously applied to determine the
placement for each student (Jaggars & Hodara, 2013). Research has revealed four
key problems with this approach.
First, there is no clear-cut and common understanding of which placement scores
represent “college readiness.” For example, in a survey of public two-year colleges,
the minimum ACCUPLACER score needed for entry into college-level English
courses ranged from 50 to 106 (Fields & Parsad, 2012). Similarly, in a study of Ohio
community colleges in the late 1990s, researchers found that a prospective student
with a given level of high school performance and ACT/SAT score would have a
very small chance of taking developmental education (perhaps a 15% chance) at
some community colleges, but a very high chance (perhaps 90%) at other commu-
nity colleges (Bettinger & Long, 2003, p. 18). Even in states with strong consistency
in college-ready cutoff scores, colleges may vary widely in terms of lower-level
cutoff scores. For example, in one community college system, a student who scored
very poorly on the writing exam would be required to take two developmental
writing courses at some colleges, but only one developmental course at others
(Jaggars & Hodara, 2013).
Second, some students perform more poorly on placement exams than their
underlying level of math or English preparedness might warrant, a phenomenon
that may be particularly pronounced among students of color (Attewell et al., 2006).
Many students are unaware of the purpose and consequences of the placement
exams, including some who take the exam on the same day they learn about its
existence. This lack of awareness is caused by multiple issues: open-access colleges
don’t want to discourage students from enrolling and thus downplay the exams’
importance; some faculty believe the exams can be “gamed” and prefer that students
do not prepare for them; and some students show up at the college to apply and
register on the same day, leaving no time for education about, or preparation for, the
exam (Fay, Bickerstaff, & Hodara, 2013; Hodara et al., 2012; Jaggars & Hodara,
2013; Venezia, Bracco, & Nodine, 2010). As a result, most students don’t prepare
for the exam, and some rush through it. Particularly if they earned good grades in
high school, students are then surprised, confused, and frustrated to learn that they
must spend time and money on courses that will not count toward their degree.
Third, depending on the student’s desired major, the content of a placement exam
is not necessarily aligned with the numeracy, literacy, and study skills the student
will need to succeed in college-level courses. In math, placement exams are typically
designed to determine whether students are prepared for an advanced college-level
algebra course. Yet a liberal-arts student can typically fulfill her college-level math
requirement with a statistics course or quantitative reasoning course, which do not
require the same set of foundational concepts as college-level algebra (Jaggars &
Hodara, 2013; National Center on Education and the Economy, 2013). Even if
474 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

placement exams are well-aligned with introductory math and composition, they are
unlikely to be aligned with the reading, writing, research, and quantitative reasoning
skills that students need to succeed in other key introductory program courses, such
as biology, psychology, or history. Placement tests also do not tap other skills and
behaviors that are important components of college readiness, such as students’ class
attendance patterns, time management skills, listening and note-taking behaviors, the
extent to which they are able to realize when they need help, and their propensity to
seek help (Conley, 2010; Hodara et al., 2012; Karp & Bork, 2014).
Fourth, when the best placement for a given student is unclear, faculty typically
believe it is better to place the student in a developmental course (Jaggars & Hodara,
2013). This belief stems from the fact that each instructor can see only the successes
and failures of students who actually enroll in their own courses: It is painfully clear
to an instructor when an underprepared student is struggling in their college-level
course, and few faculty relish the notion of failing such a student. In contrast,
instructors cannot observe the success that could have been if a student were allowed
to attempt their course, nor the barriers to progression that block the path of a student
who is not allowed to attempt it. As a result, “marginal” students – some of whom
could succeed in college-level courses with a B or better -- are far more likely to be
referred to developmental education than to be allowed into college-level
coursework (Scott-Clayton et al., 2014). Such students appear more vulnerable to
college dropout, perhaps because they believe they are wasting time and money in
unnecessary coursework (Scott-Clayton, 2012; Venezia et al., 2010).
Taking these four issues together, researchers argue that the current placement
system results in high levels of placement inaccuracy. For example, one paper
estimates that about a quarter of students referred to developmental education
could have earned a B or better in the relevant college-level course, had they been
allowed to access it (Scott-Clayton et al., 2014).
Lengthy Sequences For many developmental students, the traditional system’s
time-consuming and costly sequence of multiple developmental courses is problem-
atic. A national study found that among community college students referred to the
lowest levels of developmental education, 23% of math students and 19% of reading
students chose not to return to college for the next course in the sequence even
though they were successful in every previous developmental course they had
attempted (Bailey et al., 2010). Many community college students – whether
developmental or college-ready – are pulled away from college re-enrollment by
external factors such as employment or childcare responsibilities (CCCSE, 2012;
Johnson, Rochkind, Ott, & DuPont, 2010). An estimated 79% of community college
students are employed, with a typical workweek of 34 hours per week; 35% of these
students care for dependents, including 17% who are single parents (Horn & Neville,
2006). Moreover, perhaps half are vulnerable to drop out due to financial concerns
(CCSSE, 2012). Thus, even for academically-successful students, it is difficult to
return semester after semester to complete a long sequence of courses. Even if
students who pass each course do return for the next course, practitioners have
pointed out that long course sequences virtually ensure that few students will persist
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 475

to the end of the sequence: making the optimistic assumptions that each course in a
three-course sequence has an 80% pass rate, and that all who pass return, then the
percentage completing the sequence will be only 0.80 x 0.80 x 0.80, or 51% (Hern &
Snell, 2010).
Instructional Approaches In the 1980s and 1990s, reformers began to argue that
developmental course instruction was too narrowly focused on subject-area “reme-
dial” pedagogy, or a focus on discrete decontextualized subskills, and advocated for
providing a broader set of “developmental supports” (Boylan, 1995; Higbee &
Dwinell, 1996). As a result, many colleges centralized developmental math, English,
and reading courses into a single department or unit in order to hire instructors with
interest and experience in teaching underprepared students, and to enhance student
support services such as tutoring and advising (Boylan, Bliss & Bonham, 1997;
Roueche & Baker, 1986). Yet a recent large-scale study of instruction within
developmental classrooms found that instruction remains largely “remedial”
(Grubb & Gabriner, 2013). In English and reading, the typical curriculum is largely
based on “part-to-whole” instruction: students first practice composing sentences,
then move to paragraph writing, and then finally to essays. Developmental English
and reading content is also often poorly-aligned with college-level literacy expecta-
tions (Armstrong, Stahl, & Kanter, 2015). In mathematics, Grubb found that students
were often asked to memorize and practice sets of routine algorithms without efforts
to ensure that they understood the underlying concepts. Thus, when students cannot
recall the correct algorithm, they are unable to determine how to approach the
problem (Givvin, Stigler & Thompson, 2011; Stigler, Givvin & Thompson, 2010).
These findings are not surprising given the over-emphasis on procedural knowledge
in mathematics instruction in the United States (Hiebert et al., 2003; Marchitello &
Brown, 2015; Stigler & Hiebert, 1999).
Research on the skills and competencies of students enrolled in developmental
courses suggest that students are in need of more conceptually rich, contextualized
instruction. Developmental students have a diverse set of strengths and weaknesses
(Paulson & Armstrong, 2010), but many need support to improve key skills such as
comprehension, summarization, and interpretation (Perin, 2013; Perin, Raufman, &
Kalamkarian, 2015). These needs are likely related to a misalignment between high
school and college literacy expectations (e.g., Applebee & Langer, 2011; Karp,
2006). Most developmental students would also benefit from support to develop
time management skills; strategies for engaging with challenging tasks and content;
and effective and efficient approaches for reading, notetaking and studying (e.g.,
Cox, 2009; Karp & Bork, 2014). Developmental students may also have lower levels
of self-efficacy than students enrolled in credit-bearing courses (Cantrell, Correll,
Clouse, Creech, Bridges & Owens, 2013), and thus may have a stronger need for
instruction that is designed to engage and motivate them (Ambrose, Bridges,
DiPietro, Lovett, & Norman, 2010).
While some colleges have embraced these pedagogical challenges and created
innovative and comprehensive instructional supports for developmental students
(many of which will be profiled later in this chapter), Grubb and Gabriner’s
476 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

(2013) study suggests that most colleges continue to provide narrowly remedial
instruction. Such suboptimal practices may be sustained by the fact that an estimated
75% of developmental course sections are taught by part-time faculty (Gerlaugh,
Thompson, Boylan, & Davis, 2007), who may have less access to professional
development and other departmental resources that support alignment of teaching
practices.

10.3 First-Wave Reforms and Their Results

While individual faculty and developmental education programs have long

experimented with innovative practices, these efforts tended to be isolated and
sporadic (Grubb & Gabriner, 2013). In the early 2000s, as research began to
highlight the ineffectiveness of the traditional system, leading-edge community
colleges began a more systematic experimentation with new placement processes,
curricula, and methods of instruction. The foremost examples include colleges
involved in the national Achieving the Dream (ATD) initiative, which aims to
improve community college student success. In the mid- and late-2000s, ATD
colleges tackled developmental education as one of their top priorities by employing
a variety of interventions designed to improve developmental students’ short- and
long-term outcomes. Popular interventions included tutoring, supplemental instruc-
tion, advising, success courses, and learning communities.
Colleges were particularly optimistic about “developmental learning communi-
ties,” which were typically aimed at students referred to only one semester of
developmental education. These programs paired a college-level general education
course (such as introductory history, psychology, or biology) with a developmental
education course, and the two instructors worked together to align their curricula and
develop common assignments. The learning community concept was based in a
strong foundation of research on “contextualization” (e.g., Perin, 2011), which
suggested that students would be more motivated, would learn developmental
numeracy and literacy skills more deeply, and would be able to transfer those skills
to other courses more readily, if those skills were taught in the context of a
meaningful credit-bearing college-level course. Unfortunately, random-assignment
evaluations of developmental learning communities found that students earned only
a half-credit more than their peers in their first semester, and this effect completely
faded by students’ third semester of enrollment (Visher, Weiss, Weissman, Rudd, &
Wathington, 2012). This disappointing effect may be due to several factors. First,
these learning communities did not address the problem of lengthy sequences.
Second, most learning community instructors devoted relatively little time to
aligning curricula and assignments between the two courses; thus, the degree of
contextualization may have been too mild to make developmental skills appear
relevant nor to allow students to transfer those skills to their college-level
coursework. Third, some community college students may not have had a strong
interest in the paired general education course (e.g., Cox, 2009, p 61). Accordingly,
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 477

their intrinsic motivation may have been more strongly supported by contextualiza-
tion to an academic subject or career field in which they had a deep interest. And
fourth, most colleges did not strongly integrate student services into the learning
community: In one community college that did incorporate student services in a
more comprehensive way, developmental learning communities increased the
six-year graduation rate by nearly 5 percentage points (Sommo, Mayer, Rudd, &
Cullinan, 2012).
Other ATD colleges’ early interventions, such as success courses and intensive
advising, often showed positive effects, but these specialized interventions were
typically small in scale, reaching less than 10% of the targeted population. Accord-
ingly, by the end of the decade, developmental student outcomes among ATD
colleges remained stubbornly low (Rutschow et al., 2011). In an effort to “scale
up” interventions to reach more of the target population, several ATD colleges in
2009 participated in a spin-off grant known as the Developmental Education Initia-
tive. Each college implemented its own suite of strategies, which typically included
the provision of student supports (including study skills courses, tutoring, and
advising) or of specialized structures for developmental coursework (such as mod-
ularized computer-assisted courses or developmental learning communities). Partic-
ipating colleges were somewhat successful in scaling up their strategies over a
two-year period – the typical college served only 18% of incoming developmental
students with at least one strategy in fall 2009, and it more than doubled that
percentage to 41% in fall 2011. However, most colleges were unable to meet the
goal of serving the majority of developmental students with at least one strategy.
Moreover, most of the individual strategies did not have strong evidence as to their
effectiveness. As a result, developmental student outcomes remained largely unaf-
fected (Quint, Jaggars, Byndloss, & Magazinnik, 2013). Around the same time,
other studies of similar developmental reforms across the country found that most
addressed only one element of the developmental education process, provided only a
short-term intervention (often lasting just one semester), or involved limited num-
bers of students (Barnett et al., 2012; Boatman, 2012; Coburn, 2003; Edgecombe,
Cormier, Bickerstaff, & Barragan, 2013, Visher et al., 2012). Reform efforts also
tended to emphasize moderate changes to student supports or to the structure and
timing of courses, and rarely emphasized pedagogical innovation, faculty profes-
sional development, or faculty engagement (Edgecombe, Cormier, et al., 2013;
Grubb, 2012; Rutschow et al., 2011).
Thus, around five years ago, there was widespread recognition that the traditional
system of developmental education was badly in need of reform, and colleges were
eager to experiment with new approaches, but this first generation of reforms had
failed to yield significant improvements in student outcomes. Colleges began to
realize that the problems of developmental education were pervasive and could not
be solved with incremental or small-scale changes, so they began to appreciate the
need for a second generation of more substantial reforms that fundamentally rethink
developmental education.
478 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

10.4 Second-Wave Reforms and Their Results

Starting around 2010, community colleges across the country began to engage in
wide-scale adoption of three types of developmental reforms: revised assessment for
course placement, acceleration strategies, and changes to the content and pedagogy
of developmental curricula.

10.4.1 Reforms to Assessment

Research on the weak predictive validity of multiple-choice math and English

placement exams, the resulting misplacement of many students into either develop-
mental or college-level coursework, and the human costs of those processes
(in particular, Venezia et al., 2010; Scott-Clayton, 2012) sparked a widespread
movement to reform assessment and placement. Popular reforms include creating
customized exams that are more explicitly aligned with the college’s curriculum,
preparing students for the placement exam process, using multiple measures of
college readiness as part of the placement process, and/or lowering college-ready
cutoff scores or even waiving placement testing entirely. We discuss examples each
of these tactics in more detail below.
Customized Exams Several state systems, as well as some individual institutions,
have moved toward customized exams in recent years, including colleges in Cali-
fornia, Oregon, Texas, Washington, Virginia, and North Carolina (Hodara et al.,
2012; Kalamkarian, Raufman, & Edgecombe, 2015). For example, some have
developed custom writing prompts and scoring rubrics that mimic the kinds of
writing students are required to complete in college, and others have developed
modularized math exams that allow colleges to apply different standards of math
readiness depending on the student’s intended program of study. It is difficult to
verify whether customized exams are indeed more effective, as their introduction is
typically bound up with a variety of other changes to developmental assessment,
placement, and curricula. However, to the extent that exam customization helps to
trigger or support these broader changes, the effort may be a worthwhile one (Hodara
et al., 2012; Kalamkarian et al., 2015).
Preparing Students for the Placement Exam The accuracy of placement exams
may be improved if students are more aware of the exams and the content that will be
covered. If students have already mastered necessary skills, but cannot immediately
conjure them up when faced with unexpected questions on an exam, they may score
well below their potential. Accordingly, a few colleges are now offering “brush-up”
or “refresher” test-prep sessions for first-time exam-takers, and a larger number are
offering refreshers to prospective students who failed the exam and want to re-take it
(Hodara et al., 2012).
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 479

For example, a North Carolina community college created online reviews for
their reading, writing, and math placement exams, which students can access and
complete from any computer at their convenience. For each subject, the review
includes approximately an hour and twenty minutes of content: a diagnostic pre-test,
information on areas where the student is weak, instructional videos that cover the
test content, a post-test, and additional resources to help students prepare for the
placement exam, such as PowerPoint presentations created by faculty and links to
ACT online practice materials. The college’s internal research provides some
descriptive evidence that the re-test review improves placement accuracy (Hodara
et al., 2012). Among students who took the review course before re-testing in
2010–2011, 60% tested at least one level higher in the developmental reading and
English sequence than they previously tested, and about 35% tested at least one level
higher in the developmental math sequence. These students performed well in their
new placements, having similar or higher pass rates than their counterparts who
placed directly into the courses. Due to the success of the re-test program, the college
has now made it available to first-time test-takers, and the practice has also spread to
other community colleges throughout North Carolina.
Brush-up sessions and re-test reviews bear a resemblance to two other popular
reforms: early assessment in high school and summer bridge programs. Both types
of programs expose prospective students to the placement exam early; however,
their explicit purpose is not to help students leverage existing skills to score more
accurately on the exam, but rather to help students build skills they do not already
have. In terms of improving placement accuracy, these programs may be most
helpful when they encourage stronger alignment between the high school curricu-
lum, the placement test, and the college-level curriculum, such that the exam is
measuring the appropriate skills. For example, California State University’s Early
Assessment program, which was explicitly designed to strengthen the alignment
between high school and college, reduced high school students’ math remediation
rates by 3.4 percentage points (Howell, Kurlaender, & Grodsky, 2010). However,
the study did not examine whether the students who avoided remediation then
succeeded in math, so the impact on placement accuracy per se was unclear.
Using Multiple Measures for Placement Increasingly, colleges are experimenting
with “multiple-measures” approaches by supplementing placement exam scores
with other indicators of student readiness (Barnett & Reddy, 2017). While many
colleges are interested in understanding students’ broader non-cognitive abilities
such as motivation or “grit,” most are focusing on high school academic records
(e.g., Hu et al., 2016; Willett et al., 2015).
High school performance indicators -- such as overall GPA, math course-taking
and GPA, or English course-taking and GPA -- are concrete to measure and
relatively easy to gather, and research suggests that adding GPA as a multiple
measure helps reduce placement error rates. In a study of a large urban community
college system, Scott-Clayton (2012) performed a simulation comparing between
two conditions: assigning students using the placement test only, or using the “best
of” either the placement test or the student’s high school performance. Under the
480 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

“best of” criterion, the rate of students referred to developmental education would
fall substantially (from 75% to 67% in math, and from 81% to 69% in English) while
also reducing the placement error (by 2 percentage points in math and by 5 percent-
age points in English). Around the same time, Long Beach City College (LBCC)
began adding high school performance measures to its placement algorithm, which
increased college-level placement from 14% to 59% in English, and from 9% to 31%
in math. In Fall 2012, LBCC students who were placed into college-level
coursework using multiple measures had slightly lower but statistically similar
pass rates to those who placed into the same courses based on the exam score
alone (62% versus 64% in English, and 51% versus 55% in math). Accordingly,
the implementation of multiple measures strongly increased the overall proportion of
entering LBCC students who completed college-level math and English, with
particularly large gains for Black and Hispanic students (LBCC, 2014).
High school GPA may be a helpful addition to placement exam scores because it
helps to capture non-cognitive attributes, such as academic motivation, help-seeking,
class attendance, and timely homework completion (Scott-Clayton et al., 2014;
Bowen, Chingos, & McPherson, 2009). Because high school records may be more
difficult to access among older returning students, researchers are also examining the
validity of self-reported high school GPA (Kuncel, Credé, & Thomas, 2005; Willett
et al., 2015). More specific measures of non-cognitive readiness may also have some
predictive power over and above GPA. For example, in a pilot study of ETS’
“Success Navigator” non-cognitive test, which used data from over 4000 students
at seven colleges, researchers found that placement exam scores alone explained
approximately 8% of students’ performance in their first college-level English
course; adding high school GPA explained an additional 6%, and adding Success
Navigator scores explained yet another 3% (parallel numbers for math were 2%, 7%,
and 2%).1
Instead of or in addition to high school performance and non-cognitive tests,
some colleges also take into account the student’s own judgment about which course
type or level is right for them. Given the limited amount of information available,
students’ own self-assessment – particularly when that assessment is guided by a
discussion with an advisor or faculty member – may represent a valuable data point
(Edgecombe, Jaggars, Xu, & Barragan, 2014; Hodara et al., 2012; Jaggars, Hodara,
Cho, & Xu, 2015; Royer & Gilles, 1998). Questions remain about the efficacy of
self-placement, particularly whether students with low academic confidence may be
inclined to self-place lower than the level that is appropriate. However, a well-
developed self-placement process that includes multiple measures of student com-
petency and a strong counseling component may prompt productive student self-
reflection on areas of strength and need (Felder, Finney, & Kirst, 2007).
Lowering Cutoff Scores In her study of a large urban community college system,
Scott-Clayton (2012) suggested that most colleges’ cutoff scores were too high. Her

1
It is unclear whether this additional explanatory power would remain if students were aware of
how their self-reported non-cognitive test scores would be used.
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 481

simulations found that, although allowing all “marginal” students (those scoring a
few points above or below the cutoff) into the relevant college-level course would
lower each course’s pass rate (a 7 percentage point drop in the proportion passing
English with a C or better and 4 point drop in math), the policy would also result in a
strong net gain in the number of students completing each course with a C or better in
their first semester (from 18% to 64% in English and from 17% to 52% in math).
While colleges are loath to lower their college-ready cutoff scores for fear that
they would be perceived as lowering their standards (Hodara et al., 2012), recent
state policies have forced some colleges to lower or waive placement standards. For
example, in 2014, the state of Florida enacted legislation making developmental
education optional for recent high school graduates attending community college.
During the first year of the reform, more students immediately enrolled in gatekeeper
courses (an increase from the previous fall of about 11 percentage points in both
English and math) while pass rates in these courses dropped slightly (about 2 per-
centage points in English and 7 percentage points in math), resulting a slight net
increase in the overall likelihood of successfully completing the given course in the
first semester (an increase of about 7 percentage points in English and 4 points in
math, Hu et al., 2016).
Interestingly, exam customizations and multiple-measures approaches may also
improve a developmental system’s effectiveness simply by allowing more students
into college-level courses, in much the same way as lowering the college-ready
cutoff score would. For example, when the Virginia community college system
implemented a new customized placement exam that was more closely aligned with
their own curricula, the new exam allowed many more students to directly enter
college-level English and math, while pass rates in English remained unchanged and
pass rates in math declined slightly (Kalamkarian et al., 2015; Rodriguez, 2014). As
a result, the number of students completing college-level English and math within
one year increased by 12 and 10 percentage points, respectively. Similarly, the
success of LBCC’s multiple-measures system is predicated on the fact that more
students are allowed to directly enter college-level courses. Thus, one key question
around these reforms is how much of the improvement in course completion is due to
a de facto lowering of the cutoff score (increasing the proportion of students allowed
into college-level coursework), versus how much improvement is due to a change in
the makeup of students allowed in. That is, would a multiple-measures approach
improve course completion if a college held constant the proportion of students
allowed in to college-level coursework? A large-scale random-assignment study of
multiple measures across seven community colleges in New York is currently
underway which may soon shed light on such questions (Reddy, 2016).
482 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

10.4.2 Acceleration.

The regression discontinuity studies we discussed earlier suggest that students at any
point on the developmental pipeline are not harmed by tackling slightly more
difficult coursework than their test scores suggest they can handle. Along these
lines, many colleges are experimenting with accelerated developmental sequences,
which are designed to allow the completion of developmental prerequisites within
fewer semesters (Edgecombe, Cormier, et al., 2013; Jaggars, et al., 2015). The most
well-known acceleration models include sequence compression, co-requisite devel-
opmental education, the I-BEST approach, and math pathways. We will first discuss
research on compression and co-requisite models, then address the I-BEST model;
we will postpone discussion of math pathways until the subsequent section on
revisions to the content of developmental curricula.
Compression and Co-requisite Models In the sequence compression approach, a
college combines two or more developmental courses into a single one-semester
experience (Edgecombe, Cormier, et al., 2013). For example, rather than requiring
two three-credit developmental math courses across two semesters, a college may
combine them into a single course. Typically the new combined course requires
fewer credits (for example, four credits rather than the original six), because the
curriculum is revised to better align with the skills students need to be successful in
the relevant college-level course, which often results in the removal of superfluous or
repetitive content (Barragan & Cormier, 2013; Bragg & Barnett, 2008; Edgecombe,
Cormier, et., 2013, Edgecombe, Jaggars, et al., 2013; Hern & Snell, 2013). While the
compression approach pairs two developmental courses together, the co-requisite
approach pairs a college-level course together with either a developmental course or
another formally-required learning support, such as tutoring. The developmental
course or learning support is tailored specifically to help the student gain and practice
the skills needed to be successful with the college-level work the student is simul-
taneously attempting.
During the first wave of developmental reform, a variety of compression and
co-requisite pilot programs appeared, and initial descriptive studies suggested very
positive results (Edgecombe, 2011). Such studies compared small samples of accel-
erated students to peers who began in the traditional sequence, but did not measure
pre-existing differences between the two groups, nor control for such differences in
their analysis (e.g., Adams et al., 2009; Bragg, Baker & Puryear, 2010; Hern, 2011).
However, their positive results provided the impetus for further development and
scaling of the programs, and a subsequent study of the co-requisite writing Accel-
erated Learning Program (ALP) took advantage of larger sample sizes to perform a
more rigorous analysis of one-year outcomes (Jenkins, Peroni, Belfield, Jaggars, &
Edgecombe, 2010). That study’s positive results encouraged a flowering of the
acceleration movement across the early 2010s; these included the creation of a
nationwide network of colleges implementing the ALP approach as well as the
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 483

prominence of the California Acceleration Project (CAP), a statewide network of

colleges implementing developmental compression strategies.
Rigorous larger-scale and longer-term studies of ALP, CAP, and other programs
confirmed that each had positive results (Cho, Kopko, Jenkins, & Jaggars, 2012;
Edgecombe, Jaggars, et al., 2013; Edgecombe, Jaggars, Xu, & Barragan, 2014;
Hayward & Willett, 2014). Specifically, each program increased the number of
students who entered the relevant gatekeeper course and typically had no impact
on pass rates in that course, suggesting that accelerated developmental students were
as well-prepared to succeed with college-level work as their peers who had passed
the relevant placement exam. Finally, an analysis drew together data from three
different acceleration programs in order to compare between their results in a
consistent way (Jaggars, et al., 2015). The comparative analysis provided four key
takeaways. First, all three programs’ effects were concentrated in students’ first year
of college, and those effects faded slightly over time but still remained strong after
three years. Second, results were strongest for the co-requisite program, which
enrolled students directly into the gatekeeper course with support; less strong for
the program that compressed the sequence into a single developmental course, such
that accelerated students enrolled in the gatekeeper course the following semester;
and weakest for the program that compressed the sequence from three or four
courses into two courses, such that accelerated students still had to wait another
semester or two before enrolling in the gatekeeper course. The authors noted that,
given the large numbers of developmental students who drop out within the first few
semesters of college (e.g., Scott-Clayton & Rodriguez, 2012), the effects of accel-
eration for students in pre-requisite sequences may be diluted by the time those who
remain are able to enroll in gatekeeper courses. Third, the analysis explored the
programs’ effects among students who scored most poorly on the placement exams
and found that the estimated impacts of acceleration were slightly smaller among the
low-scoring students than among the higher-scoring students, but these were still
positive. Finally, the two acceleration programs with the strongest results also
pushed their developmental students to tackle rigorous college-level work and
provided “just in time” support as students struggled to meet those expectations.
Contrasting these strong positive results to the very mild results obtained from
shortened sequences that do not provide pedagogical support to tackle college-
level tasks (e.g., Hodara & Jaggars, 2014), the comparative analysis concluded
that accelerated programs should focus not only on shortening the sequence, but
also on re-thinking the content and pedagogy of each program’s component courses.
Modularization In an effort to accelerate student progress through developmental
mathematics requirements, several states, college systems, and colleges have mod-
ularized the content of their developmental math courses (e.g., Ariovich & Walker,
2014; Bickerstaff, Fay & Trimble, 2016; Fain, 2011, 2013; Fay, 2017). In a
modularized system, math courses are divided into modules (often offered at one
credit each). Colleges may use a diagnostic assessment to determine the modules
each student needs versus those in which the student is already proficient. In some
cases, students pursuing different programs of study are required to take different
484 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

modules, thus tailoring their developmental requirements to their future coursework.

For example, students pursuing a STEM degree may need to demonstrate profi-
ciency in more modules than do students in Liberal Arts. A common feature of
modular redesign is the use of instructional software to deliver math content. In what
is often called “the emporium model,” students work on modules independently
using software, while instructional personnel are available to provide individual
assistance, as needed. This approach is thought to deliver a more personalized
learning experience for students, in particular when software provides customized
feedback (Twigg, 1999; Wong, 2013). Colleges adopting a modular approach may
set strict proficiency standards; for example, students may need to repeat module
content until they meet a particular benchmark score. This “mastery learning”
approach is designed to ensure that students exiting the modules have fully mastered
the mathematics content (Bailey et al., 2015; Bickerstaff et al., 2016).
Descriptive analysis of modularization has found that when paired with a diag-
nostic placement instrument, the system can reduce the number of developmental
math credit hours students are required to take, thus creating opportunities for
students to proceed more quickly into college-level math (Bickerstaff, Fay &
Trimble, 2016). However, while some individual students do move more quickly,
others move more slowly. On average, students appear to make slow and limited
progress through modularized math structures, in part because of attrition and in part
because the system places more responsibility on students for self-regulation, time
management, and self-directed learning -- behaviors that many developmental
students struggle with (Bickerstaff, Fay & Trimble, 2016; Fay, 2017).
I-BEST As we noted earlier, a growing literature suggests that contextualization –
teaching basic skills in the context of disciplinary content -- could help heighten
students’ intrinsic motivation and ability to transfer learning (Perin, 2011). The
Integrated Basic Education and Skills Training (I-BEST) program, which originated
in Washington State’s community and technical college system, represents a com-
bination of developmental acceleration and contextualization. I-BEST is designed
for “basic skills students,” which consist of adults who are interested in a specific
career-technical education program but have scored extremely poorly on placement
exams (Wachen, Jenkins, & Van Noy, 2011).
The seeds of I-BEST were planted in 2004 when the Washington State commu-
nity college system funded a variety of pilot programs testing different approaches to
increasing basic skills students’ rate of advancement into college-level occupational
programs. Particularly promising results came from a model in which career-
technical faculty worked together with basic skills instructors to jointly design and
team-teach courses. Rather than enrolling in developmental courses, students
learned developmental material in the context of solving applied and relevant
problems in their occupational field of interest while earning college credit. Based
on the pilot model’s positive results, the state system created a formal funding model
to support the development of new courses and a requirement of 50% overlap
between the two instructors in the classroom. By 2009, there were 140 I-BEST
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 485

programs operating across the state’s 34 community and technical colleges, with the
bulk of programs focusing on health care; education; clerical work and office
management; and manufacturing, construction, repair, or transportation (Wachen
et al., 2011). Most I-BEST course sequences are only a few months in length.
Students who complete only the I-BEST coursework typically earn a certificate
providing them with a slight advantage in the local labor market, but most programs
encourage students to persist toward longer-term certificates, associate degrees, or
bachelor’s degrees (Wachen et al., 2011).
An initial study of I-BEST used propensity score matching to compare I-BEST
students to basic skills students enrolled in traditional career-technical education
courses; overall, I-BEST students showed stronger increases in basic skills test
scores and were more likely than the traditional group to earn an award (Jenkins,
Zeidenberg, & Kienzl, 2009). A subsequent study took advantage of variations in the
timing of I-BEST adoption across Washington State’s community and technical
colleges, using a difference-in-difference approach to compare “program” pre-post
differences (among colleges which implemented I-BEST) to “control” pre-post
difference (among colleges who did not implement I-BEST in the same time period).
Results showed that adopting I-BEST led to a 10 percentage-point increase in the
likelihood of earning college-level credits and a 7 percentage-point increase in the
likelihood of earning a certificate within three years among basic skills occupational
students (Zeidenberg, Cho, & Jenkins, 2010).
Unlike compression and co-requisite programs, however, I-BEST programs have
had difficulty scaling up due to their costs and target population. First, compared to
traditional programs, I-BEST programs cost the college approximately $1600 more
for the same number of credits taught to the same number of students (Wachen et al.,
2012). While the higher number of awards among I-BEST students balances the
program’s additional costs, resulting in approximately the same cost per award, the
up-front program costs are difficult for some colleges to manage. Second, I-BEST
programs can only recruit and serve students who have decided to pursue a particular
career field. Students who are “undecided” – who have no clear sense of the
academic area or eventual career they wish to pursue – may not benefit from
integrated basic skills and college-level instruction in a given program area. If
basic skills are contextualized to a program or career in which the student has little
interest, then the contextualization may neither heighten the student’s intrinsic
motivation to learn, nor help the student transfer the knowledge to an area of interest.
Moreover, the student may earn credits in an area that will not apply to their eventual
choice of degree. Accordingly, the I-BEST approach, while highly respected, has not
spread with the intensity and speed of compression and co-requisite developmental
education.
Overall, acceleration strategies (including compressed developmental sequences,
co-requisite developmental education, and I-BEST) have positive results, with the
strongest results accruing to those that allow students directly into college-level
courses while supporting their success in those courses. It is logical to hypothesize
that acceleration strategies have the strongest positive impact among students who
are incorrectly assigned to developmental education due to placement test
486 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

inaccuracy (see Jaggars, et al., 2015; Scott-Clayton & Rodriguez, 2012). Accord-
ingly, if a college were to employ a multiple-measures placement approach that
strongly improved placement accuracy, the college might observe weaker effects for
its developmental acceleration program than would a similar institution with high
rates of placement inaccuracy.

10.4.3 Reforms to Curriculum and Pedagogy

Many first- and second-wave reform efforts focused on changing course structures
and policies with limited attention to curriculum and pedagogy within developmen-
tal courses. While individual instructors may have made changes to instruction as a
result of changes to placement policies or accelerated course structures, few early
developmental reforms had an explicit focus on improving instruction on a large
scale (Edgecombe, Cormier, et al., 2013). The California Acceleration Project (CAP)
and I-BEST are notable exceptions. However, several other prominent second-wave
reforms also have a strong focus on curricular and instructional improvement. We
first discuss the evidence base underlying these efforts, and then turn to three specific
programs: math pathways, integrated reading and writing approaches, and CUNY
Start.
Research on instruction in developmental education is largely descriptive, with
very few studies meeting rigorous standards of evidence for establishing the efficacy
of particular approaches (Hodara, 2011; Perin, 2013). Because redesigned curricula
and pedagogy often go hand-in-hand with structural reforms, it can be difficult to
disentangle the impact of the course structure from impact of the instruction.
Moreover, studies of instruction tend to be highly contextualized, so the field is in
need of larger-scale coordinated efforts to understand “what works, when, for whom,
and under what sets of circumstances” (Bryk, Gomez & Grunow, 2010). However,
taking the current evidence base on developmental education instruction research
together with research on high-quality teaching and learning in the broader
postsecondary field (e.g., Ambrose et al., 2010; Kember & Gow, 1994), one can
discern a few key trends.
First, empirical studies show positive outcomes associated with contextualizing
or integrating developmental math or literacy skills instruction into disciplinary
content (e.g., Caverly, Nicholson & Radcliffe, 2004; Shore, Shore & Boggs,
2004). For example, Perin, Bork, Peverly, Mason, and Vaselewski (2012) found
that students who practiced summarizing using a biology-focused text showed
greater gains in their summarization skills than students who practiced using a
generic text that addressed many topics. The I-BEST program, described above, is
an example of an effort to address students’ literacy and math needs in the context of
their program of study.
In addition to contextualization, research suggests the benefits of explicitly
developing students’ metacognitive skills. Students with strong metacognitive skills
understand the ways of knowing, thinking, and learning in the discipline. They can
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 487

employ effective learning strategies, including study skills and self-regulatory

behaviors, to be successful. For example, in one developmental math intervention,
students received explicit guidance on self-regulatory strategies and completed a
structured reflection on each quiz problem they got wrong. Students in developmen-
tal math courses taught using these strategies had higher pass rates and higher scores
on a standardized math assessment than those enrolled in comparison group sections
(Hudesman, et al., 2013). Other studies have shown similar gains in performance
among students in developmental math and English courses with a focus on
metacognitive strategies (e.g., Bol, Campbell, Perez & Yen, 2015; Blake, Mrkich,
Sancak-Marusa, Philippakos & MacArthur, 2016; Nash-Ditzel, 2010).
In mathematics, there is evidence that a conceptually-oriented curriculum can
improve student outcomes (Richland, Stigler & Holyoak, 2012). For example,
students in a redesigned intermediate algebra course that featured collaborative
problem-based learning were more likely to be successful in the subsequent
college-level course (Goldstein, Burke, Getz & Kennedy, 2011). At Montgomery
County Community College in Pennsylvania, the lowest scoring students are placed
into an arithmetic course known as “Concepts of Numbers” that is not organized
according to topics (i.e., fractions, ratios, equations), but according to concepts. For
example, in the unit on addition, students add whole numbers, fractions, decimals,
percents, and variables. The teaching guide and curricular materials are designed to
promote “discovery learning” rather than the typical demonstration-practice cycle. A
study of over 500 students found that those enrolled in “Concepts” had higher pass
rates and lower rates of failure and withdrawal than students enrolled in traditional
arithmetic sections (Bickerstaff, Lontz, Cormier & Xu, 2014).
Overall, research on postsecondary instruction points to the effectiveness of
instructional approaches that are explicitly designed to foster conceptual understand-
ing, draw connections across topics, meet high performance expectations, and
understand when and how the skills students are learning can be applied (Kember
& Gow, 1994). Building on this evidence and the personal experiences of faculty
within the CAP network, Hern and Snell (2013) identified five principles for
designing curriculum and pedagogy in accelerated developmental courses:
1. Backward design from college-level courses. Rather than replicating the tradi-
tional high school curriculum, faculty design developmental curricula to support
students’ efforts to complete rigorous college-level tasks. As Hern and Snell
(2013) explain, “a developmental [English] course should look and feel like a
good, standard college English course, only with more support and guidance”
(p. 7).
2. A relevant, thinking-oriented curriculum. Rather than focus on “correctness in
written form or mathematical procedure,” faculty ask students to “engage with
issues that matter, wrestle with open-ended problems. . . and reach and defend
their own conclusions” (Hern & Snell, p. 7).
3. Just-in-time remediation. Rather than teaching a litany of preparatory skills prior
to students tackling a college-level task, faculty observe where students need help
488 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

in order to complete the task successfully, and provide targeted help (which may
include teaching a relevant preparatory skill) at that time.
4. Low-stakes, collaborative practice. Faculty provide students with ungraded
in-class opportunities to practice the types of skills that will later be graded.
5. Intentional support for students’ affective needs. Rather than exempting them-
selves from the responsibility of dealing with students’ “non-cognitive” academic
deficits (such as academic anxiety or lack of academic motivation), faculty
explicitly tackle and work on improving these issues within the context of the
course.
These five principles have permeated much of the discussion around instructional
reform within the developmental education field, and their echoes are apparent in
several of the reforms discussed below.
Math Pathways The traditional developmental math sequence is comprised of
algebra-based courses designed to lead students to college algebra and eventually
calculus. But many college students are enrolled in programs of study that do not
require calculus. As such, there are increasing efforts to use “backward design”
principles to create developmental math curricula that appropriately prepare students
for college-level mathematics courses such as Quantitative Reasoning or Statistics.
Math pathways are characterized as being more contextualized, in that they are more
relevant to students’ programs of study, although the in-class instruction may or may
not be implemented in a contextualized fashion. Pathways are also characterized as
being more accelerated than traditional models. Most pathways are designed to
allow students to complete one developmental and one credit-bearing course within
one academic year -- which may or may not represent acceleration, depending on
how the college restricts entry into the pathway. While some colleges require
students to demonstrate a certain level of readiness (often, in arithmetic) prior to
entry into the pathway, others are “open access,” allowing students with any math
placement score to enter.
The Carnegie Foundation’s Statway and Quantway pathways represent perhaps
the best-known example of the math pathways approach (Hoang, Huang, Sulcer, &
Yesilyurt, 2017). Within each pathway, students enroll in a year-long program that
replaces the college’s developmental algebra sequence as well as a college-level
statistics or quantitative reasoning course. Curriculum and instruction is focused on
building students’ conceptual understanding through the study of real-world prob-
lems (Clyburn, 2013). In addition, instructors support students to develop “tenacity
and strategies to persist despite challenges” (Silva & White, 2013). Specifically,
instructors work to support students to develop a belief that struggle, challenge, and
effort are a valuable part of the learning process. This approach is strongly influenced
by Carol Dweck’s (2006) notion of a “growth mindset.” Rigorous analysis of
Statway suggests that these students were three times as likely to complete
college-level math in one year as their similar peers were in two years (Yamada &
Bryk, 2016). Preliminary analyses of longer-term outcomes suggest that Quantway
and Statway students are more likely to earn a credential and more likely to transfer,
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 489

as compared to the general population of community college students (Norman,

2017). Subgroup analyses indicated that the program’s benefits were strong not only
for students who would normally be placed one level below college-level math, but
also for those who would normally be placed two levels below.
Similar math pathways have been implemented by other groups, including CAP
in California and the Dana Center Mathways Project (DCMP) in Texas and other
states. In addition to their intrinsic curricular redesign, math pathways typically
include some type of pedagogical reform effort. Earlier, we discussed the five
principles that undergird all of CAP’s efforts; rigorous analyses show that CAP’s
statistics pathway effects are at least as strong as those of the Carnegie program
(Hayward & Willett, 2014). Similarly, DCMP math courses include a stronger focus
on collaborative learning approaches, the use of real datasets, and the contextuali-
zation of math problems in real-life situations; and in many colleges, the program
includes a paired three-credit course that focuses on how to be a successful student in
math specifically and in college more generally. A large-scale random-assignment
study of DCMP is under way, and results from the first semester of implementation –
which included only the developmental and not the college-level portion of the
pathway – show stronger pass rates for students in the DCMP version of the
developmental course (Rutschow, Diamond, & Serna-Wallender, 2017).
However, not all math pathways incorporate an explicit focus on pedagogy. In a
recent large-scale study within the City University of New York (CUNY) system,
researchers focused on students who were placed into remedial elementary algebra,
and randomly assigned them to one of three math courses: the regular remedial
elementary algebra course; that course with support workshops; or college-level
statistics with support workshops (Logue, Watanabe-Rose, & Douglas, 2016).
Support workshops were fairly traditional in their approach: Students spent 10–-
15 minutes reflecting on what they had found difficult in class, did approximately
100 minutes of individual and group work on those topics, and then spent 5 minutes
in wrap-up reflection. Researchers evaluated the rates at which students passed the
math course to which they were assigned, and the statistics group was 16 percentage
points more likely to pass compared to the traditional elementary algebra group, and
11 points more likely compared to the elementary algebra with workshop group. It is
not clear if the positive effect of statistics assignment was due to the co-requisite
“mainstreaming” structure, to the change in curricular content from algebra to
statistics, or to both; but the results suggested that many students do not need to
complete a lengthy developmental algebra sequence in order to succeed in college-
level statistics.
Integrated Reading and Writing One popular developmental education reform
strategy gaining traction nationally is integrated reading and writing. Many colleges
and states are doing away with separate academic departments for reading and
writing in favor of integrating the subjects into one academic literacy course or
course sequence. Integrating reading and writing typically results in fewer prereq-
uisite courses and thus a quicker path to college-level coursework. Integrated courses
align with research, largely conducted in K-12 settings, which show the connections
490 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

between reading and writing processes, and specifically how learning one skillset
influences the development of the other (Fitzgerald & Shanahan, 2000; Santa &
Høien, 1999).
Studies indicate that integrated reading and writing reforms result in increased
student success. Research on Chabot College’s integrated course suggests the
efficacy of integrating reading and writing to deliver a more rigorous and contextu-
alized instructional experience (Edgecombe et al., 2014). Students in developmental
courses at Chabot perform the same college-level literacy tasks as their peers in
college-level English, albeit with additional instructional support. They read com-
plex, full-length texts that are representative of reading assignments they are likely to
encounter in college, and they write academic essays synthesizing and responding to
those texts. The English department’s pedagogical philosophy emphasizes the kinds
of scaffolding and support that can help students succeed on these tasks.
Goen and Gillotte-Tropp (2003) found that students in their integrated develop-
mental course had stronger course outcomes and better performance on assessment
measures relative to peers in stand-alone reading and writing courses. In another
study, students who had been enrolled in an integrated course performed better in
college composition than students who had taken traditional developmental English
or reading (Kuehner, 2017). In nine CAP colleges that implemented redesigned
developmental sequences, most of which both eliminated course levels and inte-
grated reading and writing courses, students who enrolled in redesigned sequences
were more likely than their peers in traditional courses to enroll in and complete
college-level English within one year (Hayward & Willett, 2014). However, it is
unclear whether these positive effects are due to acceleration, curricular integration
of reading and writing, or both.
CUNY Start CUNY Start is a pre-matriculation program operating at eight col-
leges at the City University of New York (CUNY). The program was originally
designed specifically to meet the needs of students coming from adult basic educa-
tion or GED programs, although now any student with a referral to developmental
education is eligible. To participate, students defer enrollment into the college for
one semester so that they can focus on their remediation requirements. Full-time
students attend CUNY Start for 25 hours a week—approximately 12.5 hours a week
for math and 12.5 for an integrated reading and writing class. At some colleges,
students can enroll in a part-time program in one content area for 12.5 hours per
week. The program also includes a weekly college success seminar taught by a
CUNY Start advisor. Students do not pay tuition or use financial aid to enroll in the
program; there is a flat fee of $75 for the semester.
CUNY Start’s instructional time stands in sharp comparison to typical develop-
mental courses, which usually run between three to six hours a week, and the
program’s intensive advisement and embedded tutoring distinguish it from many
traditional developmental education programs. However, perhaps what is most
unique is the program’s highly structured curriculum and pedagogy. Instructors
undergo a semester of intensive training in the program’s curriculum and
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 491

instructional method before taking on their own class (Scrivener & Logue, 2016).
The mathematics curriculum is designed so that students are positioned as active
participants in developing mathematical ideas with a goal of developing students’
understanding of math concepts. This occurs through the use of non-routine prob-
lems, student discussion, real-life applications, and instructor questioning (Hinds,
2011). The integrated reading and writing curriculum employs an approach called
“cognitive apprenticeship,” in which instructors model reading and writing practices
as well as scaffold learning so that students gradually take on more responsibility for
literacy tasks. Student discussion and teacher questioning are essential to the reading
and writing curriculum as well (Scrivener & Logue, 2016).
An internal evaluation found that CUNY Start students were less likely than
students in traditional developmental education to accrue 20 credits within a year of
college application (this result is to be expected, given the students’ delayed matric-
ulation). Nevertheless, they were more likely to pass college-level math and English
within two years, were almost twice as likely to graduate within 3 years, and more
than twice as likely to graduate with a GPA of 3.0 or higher within 3 years (Allen,
2015).

10.5 The Gathering Third Wave of Reform

As the evidence base on the effectiveness of various reform efforts has accumulated,
two conclusions have become increasingly clear. First, it is often difficult to scale
effective reforms across the entire population of students who can benefit from them.
And second, even if currently-popular evidence-based reforms were scaled to every
student who can benefit, they would be insufficient to substantially improve the
degree completion rates of developmental students. Accordingly, we have very
recently seen the beginnings of a third wave of developmental reform that is tied
up with the larger “guided pathways” reform movement.

10.5.1 Limits to Current Reform Approaches

The Difficulty of Scaling Colleges who implement pilot versions of popular

reforms such as math pathways and co-requisite education typically show positive
outcomes for the initial cohorts of students involved, yet they find it difficult to scale
the model to the majority of developmental students at that college (Jaggars, et al.,
2015; Quint et al., 2013). In their study of colleges that successfully scaled up
developmental reform programs, Edgecombe, Cormier et al. (2013, Edgecombe,
Jaggars et al. 2013) found that such programs need to be “structurally, financially,
and culturally institutionalized” (p. 17). For example, pilot planning and implemen-
tation needs to involve a broad base of faculty, rather than just a small group of
reform-minded faculty, and implementation plans must incorporate a durable and
492 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

collaborative faculty professional development infrastructure (Edgecombe, Cormier,

et al., 2013, Grubb, 2012; Rutschow & Schneider, 2011).
In order to overcome the challenges of scaling, some state legislatures and education
systems such as those in Connecticut, Florida, and Tennessee have recently taken
matters into their own hands by requiring public colleges to eliminate developmental
placement testing, convert all developmental education into a co-requisite approach,
or limit developmental placement and coursework to only a small subset of the
incoming student population. Such top-down directives may result in weak imple-
mentation and a variety of unintended consequences; however, they have aroused
the attention of colleges across the country, who are now more motivated to design
and scale up developmental reform on their own terms rather than at the behest of a
relatively uninformed state-level actor. To encourage and assist individual colleges
in these efforts, many state higher education systems are now providing financial
grants or incentives, as well as technical assistance, to colleges experimenting with
developmental reform and scaling.
The Difficulty of Moving Graduation Rates State-level organizations, as well as
individual colleges, have been most interested in reforms that provide immediate and
easily-measurable positive impacts on introductory college-level math and English
enrollments and pass rates: multiple-measures placement, developmental accelera-
tion (especially the co-requisite approach), and math pathways. However, colleges
that introduced these reforms several years ago have not shown marked increases in
their graduation rates. This is not surprising, given that the baseline graduation rates
of developmental students are extremely low. For example, among students who
were placement-tested at one large urban community college system, 17% never
enrolled in college, and 64% had dropped out within three years. The typical
developmental student was enrolled for only 3.2 semesters over three years, and
completed approximately 7 remedial and 22 college-level credits within that time
(Scott-Clayton & Rodriguez, 2012). These dismal numbers suggest that develop-
mental students face a variety of challenges which cannot be solved simply by
increasing college-level math and English completion.
One major challenge for students is achieving academic success in key introduc-
tory disciplinary courses. For example, courses such as Western Civilization,
Biology I, Introductory Business, Principles of Accounting, and Beginning Spanish
can be even larger “stumbling blocks” for students than introductory math and
English (Zeidenberg, Jenkins, & Scott, 2012). Some colleges restrict entry into
disciplinary courses until students complete developmental education, based on
the logic that the math and English skills built in developmental coursework will
help students succeed in other courses. Yet it is not clear that developmental courses
build the type of reading, writing, and quantitative skills necessary for success in
disciplinary coursework. For example, developmental and introductory college-level
English typically focus on essay composition rather than on reading and writing
skills critical to disciplinary courses, such as identifying key ideas, assessing an
argument, or writing research papers (Cox, 2009). The developmental learning
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 493

community approach popularized during the first wave of reform represented one
effort to address this problem. However, that approach typically suffered from weak
implementation, which may have contributed to its mild results; learning communi-
ties are also difficult to scale up due to inherent logistical challenges such as course
scheduling (Edgecombe, Cormier, et al., 2013, Edgecombe, Jaggars, et al., 2013;
Visher et al., 2012).
In addition to their isolation from disciplinary courses, popular reforms often pay
little attention to pedagogy. Among the popular reforms that do emphasize peda-
gogy, all are focused on enhancing instruction within the developmental portion of
the curriculum rather than within introductory college-level courses. Yet popular
reforms also allow larger numbers of students to enroll directly into college-level
courses, making the courses more heterogeneous and more difficult to teach (Jaggars
& Hodara, 2013). Thus, effective reform of developmental education will require
improvements in strategies for teaching introductory college-level courses so they
can be effective for students at a wide variety of levels of preparation.
In general, positive benefits of reforms that focus only on one segment of a
student’s experience tend to fade as the student returns to the traditional,
un-reformed systems of the college (e.g., Barnett et al., 2012; Bickerstaff et al.,
2014; Karp, 2011; Visher et al., 2012). Together with the current base of evidence on
popular reforms such as multiple-measures assessment, math pathways, and
co-requisite remediation, this observation suggests that the wide-scale implementa-
tion of these developmental reforms will strongly increase student completion of
college-level math and English, but it will only have a mild impact on colleges’
overall graduation rates (Bailey et al., 2015).

10.5.2 Comprehensive Reform Models

In 2016, the Institute for Education Sciences convened an expert panel to review
findings from rigorous research on developmental education and develop recom-
mendations for practitioners (Bailey et al., 2016). The panel produced six
recommendations:
1. Use multiple measures to assess postsecondary readiness and place students
2. Require or incentivize regular participation in enhanced advising
3. Offer students performance-based monetary incentives
4. Compress or mainstream developmental education with course redesign
5. Teach students how to become self-regulated learners
6. Implement comprehensive, integrated, and long-lasting support programs
Notably, three of these recommendations are not directly related to developmen-
tal education course structure or instruction. Instead, recommendations 2, 3 and
6 speak to the need to create comprehensive student supports that extend both
beyond the classroom and beyond their time in developmental education.
494 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

Recognizing that a more comprehensive approach will be necessary to substantially

improve the graduation rates of underprepared students, the City University of
New York is at the forefront of experimentation with comprehensive developmental
reform. Not only did they develop the START model described earlier in this chapter,
but they also pioneered the Accelerated Study in Associate Programs (ASAP) pro-
gram. Designed for low-income students with one or more developmental needs, the
program provides dedicated advising and tutoring, a student success course, blocked
or linked courses, and financial support (tied to student participation in key program
services) for up to three years, while requiring students to attend full-time. A recent
random-assignment study of the program found that the program nearly doubled
graduation rates (Scrivener et al., 2015). In view of these very positive results, the
ASAP program is being scaled up to 25,000 students across the CUNY system and has
also spread to three community colleges in Ohio (New York Daily News, October
16, 2015; Sommo & Ratledge, 2016).
At the same time, other colleges have been experimenting with how to integrate
developmental education into the larger movement of “guided pathways” reform,
which is focused on helping students choose, successfully enter, and progress
through a program of study (Bailey et al., 2015). The guided pathways agenda for
underprepared students was jointly articulated by six leading organizations in the
national movement to reform developmental education through the 2015 manifesto
Core Principles for Transforming Remediation within a Comprehensive Student
Success Strategy. These organizations argued that colleges should stop treating
developmental education as a set of stand-alone learning activities that replicate
the high school curriculum and occur prior to a student’s entry into a program.
Rather, developmental education should consist of a set of activities that are inte-
grated with, and serve as supports for, the student’s concurrent college-level learning
in courses relevant to the student’s program of study.
The primary barrier to implementing guided pathways reforms for underprepared
students are the facts that most incoming students are unclear about their desired
academic or career goals, and that many college faculty believe students should take
time to sample various courses in order to solidify their interests and goals (Bailey,
Jaggars, & Jenkins, 2015). Given this context, it has traditionally seemed sensible to
funnel all students into the same remedial curriculum, preparing every student for
courses in any and all program areas. However, a broad base of evidence from both
higher education and behavioral economics suggests that this approach is counterpro-
ductive for the typical student who is undecided on a program of study (Scott-Clayton,
2011). In order to find a balance between exploration and early decision-making for
undecided developmental students, some colleges are now experimenting with two quite
different models: “program streams” (also known as “exploratory majors” or “meta-
majors”) and a fresh approach to common curricula.
Under the program stream model, colleges design several broad but distinct areas
of study. New students compare between a small set of clearly-described streams,
and they choose the one that most closely matches their interests and nascent goals.
Embedded within each stream are a variety of majors that share a common set of
first-semester requirements. For example, a social and behavioral sciences explora-
tion program might be appropriate for students interested in cultural studies,
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 495

anthropology, communications, geography, political science, public administration,

psychology, or sociology. For students placed at the college level, the common first-
semester curriculum might include freshman composition, quantitative reasoning, a
signature seminar course that explores a key social issue from the perspective of
multiple social and behavioral sciences, and the student’s choice of language require-
ment. A wide variety of colleges across the country have adopted this basic meta-major
framework; however, many meta-majors are not explicitly designed to support the
success of academically-underprepared entrants (Jenkins, Lahr, & Fink, 2017). In order
to do so, meta-majors may also need to design co-requisite developmental curricula that
are structured to help students to succeed in their first set of college-level courses, to
explore careers or specific academic fields within the stream, and to build general
metacognitive and “college knowledge” skills. Extending on the social and behavioral
sciences meta-major example above, for students who are not college-ready, the
language course might be replaced with a required support course that helps students
build the skills they need to succeed in the other three courses, while building
motivation and study skills. The signature seminar course might also include one or
more assignments in which all students explore and critically compare the type of work
they might perform across different social and behavioral science careers. For students
with extremely poor literacy or quantitative skills, the college might build an ASAP or
I-BEST type of on-ramp into each meta-major. The program stream approach to
developmental education is relatively new. Accordingly, while the approach seems to
have promising short-term results, thus far the evidence is only anecdotal, and it
remains to be seen whether the approach can substantially improve graduation rates
among underprepared students (Jenkins, Lahr, & Fink, 2017).
In contrast to the program stream approach, which designs a common first-
semester curriculum within each exploratory major (with some variations for the
student’s level of readiness), the common curriculum approach designs a common
first-semester or first-year curriculum regardless of the student’s potential major (and
sometimes, regardless of their level of readiness). The common curriculum approach
may be most appropriate for colleges that have a relatively homogenous base of
students: the primary example in the open-access postsecondary setting is CUNY’s
Guttman Community College, which has a student body that is highly diverse in
terms of ethnicity, but is relatively homogeneous in that most are young, academ-
ically underprepared, lower-income students who are interested in attending college
full-time. Guttman opened in 2012 with five programs of study, each of which were
closely tied to the New York City area’s high-demand career areas as well as to
transfer opportunities within the CUNY system (Weinbaum, Rodriguez, & Bauer-
Maglin, 2013). Regardless of the student’s area of interest or level of college
readiness, all Guttman students enroll in the same curriculum during their first fall
and spring terms.2 In the fall, students enroll in statistics, “Ethnographies of Work I,”

2
The college’s term structure includes a 12-week first session and 6-week second session within
each fall and spring term. The second session allows flexibility for students to catch up or speed up,
according to their current performance and future goals. For more details on the first-semester
curriculum, see http://guttman.cuny.edu/academics/first-year-experience/
496 S. S. Jaggars and S. Bickerstaff

and “City Seminar I.” The 4.5-credit ethnography course focuses on the meaning and
experience of work across varied career fields, including 3 college-level credits and
1.5 credits of college success skills as well as academic program exploration and
selection. The 10.5-credit City Seminar analyzes critical issues in New York City’s
urban environment, and includes 3 college-level credits, 3 developmental credits in
reading and writing, 3 developmental credits in quantitative reasoning, and 1.5 hours
of structured group study. In the spring, students enroll in a similar curriculum
(Composition I, Ethnographies of Work II, and City Seminar II). Importantly, the
developmental credits are designed to scaffold students’ success with the literacy
and quantitative tasks required in their concurrent college-level courses (Weinbaum
et al., 2013). The college’s graduation rates are currently double those of the typical
community college, and three times as high as urban community colleges with
comparable populations (Bailey et al., 2015; Butrymowicz, 2016).

10.6 Conclusion and Future Directions

Across the past decade, developmental education research and reform have been
closely entwined, allowing for a fast-paced environment of innovation and the
scaling-up of new and effective practices. As a result, colleges now have a long
menu of evidence-based developmental reforms from which they can choose in
order to create a comprehensive and integrated set of curricular, pedagogical, and
support strategies that are tailored to the unique needs of their own college’s
developmental student population.
Yet quite a few gaps remain in terms of the evidence. In particular, the quality
of evidence on curricular and pedagogical reform in developmental education
remains limited, as such reforms often accompany structural changes but are
rarely the explicit focus of implementation or evaluation. Accordingly,
researchers need to focus more strongly on investigating instructional
approaches that work well, as well as on documenting faculty professional
development models that support the success of these approaches. In addition,
research has paid little attention to students who score at the lowest levels of
developmental placement exams, and thus it is unclear which reform approaches
might serve these students best (for example, a co-requisite model, an I-BEST
model, or a CUNY START type of approach?). Finally, research suggests that
the most popular reform models (including multiple measures assessment and
placement, math pathways, and the co-requisite approach) will indeed improve
students’ rate of success in college-level math and English, but they are unlikely
to substantially improve graduation rates. Accordingly, further research is
needed to rigorously evaluate student learning and long-term outcomes under
more “comprehensive” reforms to developmental education (such as ASAP,
program streams, and the Guttman-style common curriculum model), as well
as to diagnose implementation challenges that may stand in the way of scaling
them up to all students who could benefit from them.
10 Developmental Education: The Evolution of Research and Reform 497

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Chapter 11
Reimagining Organizational Theory
for the Critical Study of Higher Education

Leslie D. Gonzales, Dana Kanhai, and Kayon Hall

11.1 Introduction

All around the world, postsecondary education is framed as a pathway to socioeco-

nomic mobility for individuals as well as for local and national economies (Florida,
2005; Marginson, 2016). This promise, however, has a troublesome history, partic-
ularly in the U.S. For example, a critical historical reading of U.S. higher education1
reveals that it is an institution implicated in stratification and human oppression.
Whether one focuses on colonialism and the fact that early colleges were built on
stolen Native land (Dunbar-Ortiz, 2014), the tie between early U.S. colleges and the
institution of slavery (Wilder, 2013), or the formal and informal ways that higher
education privileges white patriarchal and middle class cultures (Cabrera, 2014;
Inwood & Martin, 2008; Yosso, 2006), it is clear that the institution of post-
secondary education in the U.S. was not built to serve all.
These historical shortcomings persist in contemporary U.S. higher education. For
example, although the U.S. hosts one of the most expansive systems of higher
education in the world, it is a system mired in individualism, competition, repro-
duction, and a hyper-capitalism that is bent towards a statist agenda (Rivera, 2016;
Shahjahan & Kezar, 2013). As a competitive and individually focused system, it
tends towards stratification, where the most vulnerable student populations are often
siphoned into institutional types (e.g., community colleges, comprehensive

1
Owing to the experience and knowledge base of two of the three authors of this chapter, our
contribution is largely based on U.S. post-secondary education. However, when possible, and when
it makes sense, we refer to or draw from examples set in other countries.

L. D. Gonzales (*) · D. Kanhai · K. Hall

College of Education, Education Administration Department, Michigan State University,
East Lansing, MI, USA
e-mail: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 505

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4_11
506 L. D. Gonzales et al.

universities) that have fewer curricular, human, and support resources while the most
privileged, wealthiest, and often predominantly white students access well resourced
institutions (Bastedo & Gumport, 2003; Brennan & Naidoo, 2008; Schneider &
Deane, 2015). Furthermore, research shows that it is typical for vulnerable student
populations to take longer to graduate (Gladieux & Perna, 2005), to experience
institutional and symbolic violence (Bourdieu, 1977; Mu~noz & Vigil, under review)
along the way, and/or to leave college without a degree altogether (Chen &
DesJardins, 2010). Just consider how the safety of undocumented and international
students came under severe threat with the election of Donald J. Trump, or how pleas
for representation and inclusion among students of color, non-gender conforming,
and gay students have gone ignored or only tacitly acknowledged, leading to a
resurgence of student activism, including hunger strikes and building occupations
(Carson, 2014; Keene, 2016; Nicolazzo, Renn, & Quaye, 2017; Pasque, Khader, &
Stil, 2017; Wilson & Curnow, 2013). When non-dominant students are forced to
take up such labor, it means they are doing the work that organizations have failed to
do, often at the cost of their academic, mental, and emotional well-being (Curwen,
Song, & Gordon, 2015).
Higher education’s unkempt promises manifest in other ways as well. Specifi-
cally, over the last 30 years, managerial tactics have resulted in major shifts in the
constitution of the academic profession. Whereas most college and university pro-
fessors used to be hired into tenurable lines, the majority of today’s college and
university professors work in non-tenure-track, contingent, and part-time positions
(Kezar & Maxey, 2016; Kwiek & Antonowicz, 2015; Rhoades & Olave-Torres,
2015). Furthermore, although there is evidence of this hiring trend across all types of
colleges and universities, community colleges and comprehensive universities—
institutions that are more likely to enroll working class, students of color, or
otherwise non-traditional students—are particularly prone to this approach to hiring
(Schneider & Deane, 2015; Finkelstein, 2006). Research suggests that there are
numerous consequences related to such shifts in the academic profession. For one,
contingent (especially part-time) faculty members have inconsistent access to health
benefits and livable salaries (Campaign for the Future of Higher Education, 2015).
And, it is important to point out that although almost all new hires are contingent
laborers, a historical analysis of faculty demography shows that racial and ethnically
minoritized people, and often women of color, have long been over-represented in
contingent positions (Finkelstein, Conley, & Schuster, 2016). Moreover, because
contingent faculty members are paid so poorly, they very frequently teach at multiple
campuses, meaning they do not have a home campus and are often not able to be as
available to students as they might like and as students might need. As the academic
profession has been chipped away, this has meant that students do not have consis-
tent access to the faculty who teach their classes and that these faculty often do not
have access to the resources they need to carry out their work. Thus, the most
underrepresented and marginalized faculty and student groups are likely to be
affected by the adjunctification of the profession.
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 507

And yet, despite its historical and persistent shortcomings, U.S. higher education
(and higher education, more broadly) remains an institution where new possibilities
seems to always be within reach. Even the most critically inclined scholars tend to
look for cracks in the structure and culture of higher education, imagining where big
and small acts of subversion may yield change (see Collins, 1986; hooks, 1994). For
example, writing about the possibility of transformation of the academy, hooks noted:
The academy is not paradise. But learning is a place where paradise can be created. The
classroom with all its limitations remains a location of possibility. In that field of possibility
we have the opportunity to labour for freedom, to demand of ourselves and our comrades, an
openness of mind and heart that allows us to face reality even as we collectively imagine
ways to move beyond boundaries, to transgress. (p. 207)

In this chapter, we take hooks’ powerful and cautiously optimistic note seriously in
that we imagine colleges and universities as sites where diverse people and com-
munities might come together to foster a social world committed to justice. How-
ever, to be such a transformative site, practitioners, researchers, and leadership must
be able to re-envision higher education as more than a place where people come to
be credentialed and graduated, more than a place where faculty and staff simply
process programs and grants just as they process students. Indeed, to make this
transition, practitioners, researchers, and leadership must embrace lenses that are
radically different than those that have historically framed and guided the work of
colleges and universities.
There are many potential lenses that one might use to re-envision and remake higher
education. We suggest that, if reimagined, organizational theories provide a particu-
larly powerful entry point for such transformative work. We focus organizational
theories as a potential way forward because higher education and educational leader-
ship graduate students often take at least one or two organizational and/or leadership
theory courses during their course work (Pasque & Carducci, 2015), meaning graduate
students are exposed to organizational theory and thinking early on in their studies. In
these courses, students probably learn that organizational theories represent robust and
diverse ways to conceptualize, think about, and study entities, as a whole. However,
more importantly, these future higher education researchers and practitioners are often
advised of organizational theory’s utility for conceptualizing or framing the problems
and topics that they will face as actors within higher education organizations.
We also suggest that organizational theory is a powerful entry point for trans-
formative work because it takes entire entities (rather than individuals or depart-
ments, for example) as the central units of analysis, and is concerned with
analyzing such entities holistically (Peterson, 2007). In the case of higher educa-
tion, organizational researchers generally study a variety of issues (e.g., student
success initiatives, student affairs programming, employee morale, funding pat-
terns), but always do so by foregrounding organizational contexts and conditions.
For instance, a higher education researcher might be interested in exploring
graduate student education, but do so through an organizational level lens, as
508 L. D. Gonzales et al.

Gardner (2010) did when she explored how the organizational culture shaped the
experience of doctoral students at one institution (also see Marin & Pereschica,
forthcoming). Another scholar, also interested in graduate education, might exam-
ine how organizational conditions allow graduate students to engage in interdisci-
plinary collaborations (Gardner, Jansujwicz, Hutchins, Cline, & Levesque, 2014).
Alternatively, a researcher might use particular organizational theories to con-
sider how to encourage faculty buy-in for a new initiative (Harris, 2010; Hartnell,
Kinicki, Lambert, Fugate, & Doyle Corner, 2016; Kezar, 2012). Another scholar
interested in academic labor might wonder how to foster faculty members’ commit-
ments to their home institution while supporting, or balancing, the need to support
the external connectivity and reputation of scholars (Gouldner, 1957, 1958; Niehaus
& O’Meara, 2015; O’Meara, Rivera, Kuvaeva, & Corrigan, 2017; van Knippenberg
& Sleebos, 2006). All in all, organizational theories help higher education
researchers study problems through a lens that emphasizes the college or university
context—both internal and external—rather than approaching problems as if they
arise in vacuous spaces, or within individuals (Gumport, 2012).
Despite the robust power and multiple angles afforded by organizational theories,
their use in higher education research has declined in recent years, especially among
scholars who proclaim a commitment to social justice and equity. Bastedo (2012)
wrote, “the study of organizational topics is in sharp decline, owing largely to a lack
of perceived connection between organization theory and major contemporary
concerns in higher education” (p. 5). Elaborating further, Bastedo reflected,
“scholars of higher education [who are] interested in access, equity, and social
justice often fail to see the usefulness of organization theory. . .on the other hand,
scholars of organization theory see themselves as disconnected from the rest of the
field” (p. 5). Pasque and Carducci (2015) picked up Bastedo’s commentary and
noted not only the seeming gap between organizational theory and social justice, but
also noted that most applications of organizational theory in higher education
scholarship fail to interrogate or revise the assumptions inscribed in organizational
theory (also see Manning, 2013; Pasque & Lechuga, 2017).
Our handbook chapter builds on the work of Bastedo (2012) and Pasque and
Carducci (2015). Like Bastedo, we highlight the merits of organizational theory
(e.g., its interdisciplinarity, its robustness, its diverse lenses). Like Pasque and
Carducci, we recognize the limitations of organizational theory as it is typically
applied and practiced in higher education organizational research (e.g., its individ-
ualist, often top-down conception of leadership; its lack of grounding for assessing
organizations, whose charge is fundamentally different than economic and technical
markets). However, while Bastedo (2012) urged scholars to reconsider the utility of
organizational theory in its most familiar forms and Pasque and Carducci provided
methodological pathways for critical organizational research, our specific aim is to
reimagine familiar organizational theories by infusing them with insights and
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 509

commitments drawn from the critical paradigm2 (Burrell & Morgan, 1979). As such,
a significant portion of this chapter synthesizes well-known organizational theo-
ries and presents them as four distinct schools of thought. This synthesis may be
particularly helpful to individuals who are new to organizational theory, or as a
refresher to those who are interested in the history or evolution of organizational
theory. However, the heart of our work lies in the reimagined rendition of organi-
zational theories and may be particularly attractive to those committed to critical
higher education organizational research, administration, and practice. To illustrate
the potential of organizational theory, in both its familiar and reimagined forms, we
consider how each school of thought and their reimagined rendition allows a
researcher, leader, and/or practitioner to address a specific issue. These issues
include: labor in/justice, intersectional justice, reparative justice, and epistemic
justice. Each presents an example of the historical and persistent failure for higher
education to serve all. Our application of both familiar and reimagined organiza-
tional perspectives appears in the third section of this chapter, and might be partic-
ularly helpful for scholars who are interested in developing a view of organizational
theory that is deeply grounded in a higher education issue and its respective
literature. As a preview, we describe our four selected issues below:
• Labor justice deals not only with the fact that the academic profession has been
so severely deprofessionalized that the same professors who teach college stu-
dents by day may also face homelessness at night (Sanchez, 2013), but it also
deals with the fact that colleges and universities have come to exploit the
emotional labor of faculty members (as well as student affairs professionals) by
playing on the passions and commitments often held by these laborers (see
Gonzales & Ayers, 2018; Grandey, Rupp, & Brice, 2015). Moreover, it is
important to note that while such labor injustices touch the majority of higher
education employees (faculty and student affairs staff), they render particularly
distinct and disparate effects on and for women and people of color (Ahmed,
2017; Finkelstein et al., 2016; Wong, 2007; Zambrana, Harvey, Wingfiled,
Lapeyrouse, & Dávila, 2016), which leads to our second issue: intersectional
justice.
• The Intercommunity Justice and Peace Center (2017) notes that “oppression is
complex and multifaceted. Individuals experiencing one injustice may also be
experiencing another injustice at the same time,” which means that any effort at

2
We choose to use the language critical paradigm, but want to note that others use labels like critical
theory or critical tradition. Our use of “critical paradigm” is informed by Burrell & Morgan’s (1979/
2006) definition, in which they state that paradigms are “very basic meta-theoretical assumptions
which underwrite the frame of reference, mode of theorizing, and modus operandi of the social
theorists who operate within them. It is a term, which is intended to emphasize the commonality of
perspective which binds the work of a group of theorists together in such a way that they can be
usefully regarded as approaching social theory within the bounds of the same problematic. This
definition does not imply complete unity of thought. Instead, it allows for the fact that within the
context of any given paradigm there will be much debate between theorists, who adopt different
standpoints.” (p. 23).
510 L. D. Gonzales et al.

justice must be intersectional. Years of research confirms the need for

intersectional justice for multiple marginalized or minoritized people in acade-
mia. For example, scholars have shown that minoritized women, LGBT and
Trans* people of color, who serve in the role of faculty, staff, or administration
not only engage in the typical work of higher education, but do so with the added
burden of moving through, or running up against organizational practices and
policies that are deeply invested in whiteness, patriarchy, and nativism (Acker,
1990; Ahmed, 2012, 2017; Baez, 2000; Bourdieu, 2001; Cabrera, 2014; Inwood
& Martin, 2008; Keene, 2016; Smith, 1987; Yosso, Parker, Solórzano, Lynn,
2004). When it comes to investments in whiteness, colleges and universities
cannot erase or deny the roles that they have played in colonial nation-building,
which brings us to our third issue: reparative justice.
• Reparative justice is when “a state, or individuals or group, repair the conse-
quences of violations—either because it directly committed them or failed to
prevent them” (International Center for Transitional Justice, 2017). Applied in a
higher education organizational context, reparative justice requires one to think
about colleges and universities as tools of colonization, and to prioritize
repatriations to communities whose lives have forever been altered in the name
of building a college, or perhaps more to the point, building a nation (Harkavy,
2006; Marullo & Edwards, 2000; Tuck & Yang, 2012; Wilder, 2013). By
presenting this issue, we follow the work of Native and Indigenous scholars
(Brayboy, 2013, Keene, 2016; Lipe, 2014; Reyes, 2017; Tuck & Gaztambide-
Fernández, 2013; Tuck & Yang, 2012), and point out U.S. higher education’s
historical and continual intertwinement with colonialism and neocolonialism.
• Fourth and finally, we address the issue of epistemic injustice (Frank, 2013;
Gonzales, 2015a). Connected to the marginalization of non-dominant groups and
tied to the colonial and neoliberal relations in which colleges and universities
fully participate, are narrow rules as to whom and what has come to be valued as
knowers and knowledge. Such narrow rules—evinced in hiring and tenure and
promotion guidelines—often operate under the guise of disciplinary expertise and
professional notions of “fit,” but the material consequences are felt disparately by
marginalized individuals, including people of color, LGBT communities, and
working class people as well as scholars whose work reflects critical and
non-conventional approaches (Arnold, Crawford, Khalifa, 2016; Collins, 1986;
Dotson, 2012; Gonzales & Terosky, 2016; Gonzales & Waugaman, 2017;
Lamont, 2012).
We want to stress that these are not the only issues deserving of attention.
However, given the recent context of U.S. (e.g., violence against People of Color,
the Key Stone Pipeline, the appointment of Betsy Devos; the stripping of tenure in
Wisconsin; the direness of adjuncts), the issues we have highlighted are, in our mind,
warranted. In selecting four recent issues, we aim to offer concrete scenarios that are
accessible and relevant to current and future higher education leaders and
researchers. However, and perhaps most importantly, we want to call attention to
the kinds of issues that organizational theory rarely addresses. In other words, rather
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 511

than perpetuate the assumption that organizational theory is only used to advanced
status quo and elitist agendas, we show how it can be reimagined for justice.

11.1.1 Chapter Organization

In the next section (Sect. 11.2), we provide a condensed overview of organizational

theory in the form of four schools of thought3: (1) scientific management; (2) orga-
nizational behavior; (3) environmental perspectives; and (4) organizational culture.
This overview is followed by a discussion of the critical paradigm. Readers might
consider Sect. 11.2 as a primer for Sect. 11.3. Section 11.3 provides a much more
in-depth discussion of each school of thought and features citations of seminal
papers that contributed to the formation of organizational theory in its familiar
forms. After introducing each school of thought, we deconstruct each and reimagine
them as we draw from the critical paradigm. However, it is key to note that, in
reimagining conventional organizational theories, we also attempt to leverage and
reappropriate any utility that the original theories may provide. Thus, we compare
how the conventional and reimagined school of thought allows higher education
leaders and leadership and researchers to think about colleges and universities
specifically in relation to one of the justice issues noted above. Since Sect. 11.3
contains extensive narrative, we present image-enhanced summaries for each school
of thought to break up the text. The final section, Sect. 11.4 features our reflections, a
disussion on the limitations of our work, and suggestions for moving critical
organizational theory applications forward in higher education research.

3
Scholars who are familiar with the development of the academic disciplines may find that the four
schools of organizational theory, as we have constructed them, align quite well with the evolution of
the academic disciplines. We have not stressed this connection, or pointed out how the formation of
various schools of organizational theory was influenced by their attachments to distinct academic
disciplines. However, such analyses would also offer valuable future contributions, and scholars
may want to explore the literature that addresses the ecology of the academic disciplines (Fourcade
& Khurana, 2013) and disciplinary boundaries or interdisciplinarity (Jacobs, 2013).
4
It is necessary to note that our discussion of organizational theory reflects a western, or more
specifically, a U.S.-based perspective, meaning most of the studies and writers that we cite,
especially for the conventional discussion, are drawn from the U.S. context. We state this because
we want to stress that our writing reflects our own academic background and experience, rather than
a “correct” discussion of organizational theory.
512 L. D. Gonzales et al.

11.2 An Orientation to Organizational Theory

and the Critical Theory Paradigm

The purpose of this section is to provide a brief overview of four major schools of
thought within organizational theory and the critical paradigm that we use to
reimagine organizational theory. Because organizational theory and the critical
paradigm entail centuries worth of work and development, our discussion cannot
address all the nuances within these bodies of work. Instead, this section is intended
to prime readers for the argument that we develop over the course of this chapter.4

11.2.1 Organizational Theory

Organizational theory explicitly focuses on organizations in all of their diverse

structural arrangements, their cultural traditions and norms, and their ability to
survive and thrive under variable environmental conditions (Fligstein, 2001). Bess
and Dee (2008) suggest that organizational theory “comprises a body of knowledge
about how and why organizations function” (p. 467). We agree with Bess and Dee,
but note that although an organizational theorist’s overriding concern is the organi-
zation, this does not preclude them from being interested in questions related to
human perspectives, experiences, or interactions. Indeed, people’s behaviors and
perspectives are very often the entry point for understanding organizations.
Certainly, it is true that such human and interpretive perspectives in organiza-
tional theory have not always existed, and that only recently has organizational
theory evolved from depicting organizations as machines to framing organizations as
impermanent, human collectives that are re-accomplished all the time. Thus, within
this broad body of work considered organizational theory, one can find realist
conceptions of organizations, interpretive images that stress the human role in
building and maintaining organizations, and even poststructural takes on organiza-
tions. Accordingly, while some organizational theories focus on structural arrange-
ments and processes, others focus on human interactions and understandings,
perhaps stressing the role of leaders or the role of relationships among various
subgroups. Still other organizational theories might center on symbolic means,
including texts, images, and artifacts, and while some organizational theories focus
exclusively on the internal workings of organizations, others direct one’s attention to
external conditions.
For the purposes of this chapter, we present these diverse organizational theories
as four schools of thought. A school of thought can be understood as “a set of ideas
or opinions about a matter that are shared by a group of people” (Cambridge-
Dictionary, online version). In this way, readers might want to consider organiza-
tional theory as a broad umbrella whose overarching concern is organization and
organizational matters. However, situated underneath the organizational theory
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 513

umbrella are unique ideas and opinions that focus the theorist’s attention in certain
ways, on certain means, and for certain purposes (Stern & Barley, 1996).
We start with the earliest wave of organizational theory, which we refer to as
scientific management (Fayol, 1949; Taylor, 1919). Theories within this school of
thought were primarily concerned with managing and designing organizations in
order to maximize efficiency and productivity. These approaches strived to minimize
the role of humans, human agency, and human emotion in organizations by
implementing tight controls and well-defined processes. For all of these reasons,
scientific management can be understood as internally focused.
Organizational leaders and social scientists came to realize that scientific man-
agement had significant shortcomings, which largely stemmed from the attempt to
drown out any and all human elements. As a result, organizational theorists devel-
oped an eclectic school of thought that we refer to as organizational behavior.
Organizational behavior, as we define it, is a school of thought that elevates the
role of humans, human interactions, and human’s experiences as ways of under-
standing organizational performance (Follett, 1926; Merton, 1957; Roethlisberger,
1941). Just like scientific management theories, the early iterations of organizational
behavior conceptualized the organization as a closed system, while elevating con-
cerns like human satisfaction and human relationships. Contemporary iterations of
organizational behavior acknowledge the external environment for the influence it
has on individuals and individual dispositions (Fugate & Kinicki, 2016).
In some ways, organizational behavior theories primed the next evolution of
organizational theorists to consider multiple and dynamic influences on organiza-
tions. Around the 1950s, organizational theorists became enthralled with the idea
that organizational behavior could not be understood, nor performance maximized,
if researchers and leadership neglected the various environments in which an
organization was embedded (Meyer & Rowan, 1977; Salancik & Pfeffer, 1978;
Scott, 1983; Selznick, 1957). This turn in organizational theory, which we call open-
systems, or the environmental school of thought, emphasized system level thinking
and strategic management.
Finally, whereas the environmental school of thought pushed leaders to recognize
the influence of external stakeholders, other theorists returned again to study the
inner-workings of organizations. However, rather than restrict their focus on roles
and process, this vein of theory stressed the importance of symbolic acts and
practices. We refer to this as the organizational culture school of thought. Organi-
zational culture traditions consider how tacit but powerful norms, values, and
traditions shape organizational decision-making and prioritizing. Having introduced
the four schools of organizational theory that we will be working with throughout the
rest of this chapter, we now describe the critical paradigm, which we draw on to
reimagine organizational theory.
514 L. D. Gonzales et al.

11.2.2 The Critical Paradigm

If societies have always found ways to organize, then there have always been people
creating rules and managing such organizational schemas. Understanding how
societies are organized, who gets to make those decisions, how they are maintained,
and exposing who benefits is the critical paradigm’s most pressing concern (Allan,
2011; Freire, 1970/2000; hooks, 1994; Martínez-Alemán, 2015; Zald, 2002). Said
otherwise, the critical paradigm, which we rely on to reimagine the various schools
of organizational thought noted above, is best described as a range of theories whose
central aim is to critique, interrogate, and transform any system implicated in the
oppression of humans. However, other than their fundamental commitment to
critique and dismantle oppressive systems and situations, it is quite difficult to pin
the critical paradigm to just one definition. Jermier (1998) explained that the critical
paradigm is such a broad umbrella that within it, scholars often take up positions and
perspectives that seem irreconcilable. Still, Jermier suggested that all iterations of
critical theory seem to be based on the following insights and commitments: (1) that
there are misuses of power in society; (2) that these misuses of power lead to
mistreatment of some individuals and groups, (3) that there is a need for utopian
thinking as a form of resistance, and (4) that researchers must align social science
with the interests of the mistreated (see p. 236).
Most writers trace the beginning of the critical paradigm to the work of Hegel,
Marx and the Frankfurt School (Burrell & Morgan, 1979/2006; Martínez-Alemán,
2015) and include in it work as diverse as feminism, critical race theories,
poststructuralism, postmodernism, and postcolonialism (see Allan, 2011 Guba &
Lincoln, 1994; Lather, 1992; Prasad & Stablein, 2012). According to Martínez-
Alemán (2015): “Marxists, feminists, gender and queer theorists, structuralists and
post-structuralists all utilize critical theory to identify and locate the ways in which
societies produce and preserve specific inequalities through social, cultural, and
economic systems” (p. 8). We begin our discussion of the critical paradigm by
introducing Hegel and emphasizing Marx. We emphasize Marxian thought because
of its commitment to human emancipation, and the assumption that progress often
unfolds through a confrontation of competing interests and ideas that feed a revision
of systems and practice. However, we recognize how Marxian thought’s alignment
with modernity is problematic as it over-simplistically embraced the notion that
society slowly, smartly, and universally progresses forward. To this point, the
comforts of progress for some have risen from the oppression, attempted erasure,
and displacement of others.
Both Hegel and Marx suggested that society and the human condition could be
understood through a set of exchanges or arguments that they termed as the
dialectical process. For Hegel, the dialectical process was ideational, or subjective.
Human progress, according to Hegel, was contingent on one having a thesis (e.g., a
belief, a commitment), confronting a rebuttal or an anti-thesis, and eventually
arriving at a compromise or a new thesis, after dealing with tensions between the
original and rebuttal thesis. In other words, Hegel believed that progress might be
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 515

made through the constant battle and re-visioning of ideas. Hegel did not move his
argument or thinking towards a material analysis, which leads to Marx.
In comparison to Hegel, Marx’s dialectical process was based on a clash between
classes, and based on material conditions. Although Marx’s work can be understood
as structural or materialist, he was very much driven by a concern for the human
spirit and condition. Simply put, Marx critiqued the capitalist modes of production,
in which capitalists owned the material necessary for production and competition in
a capitalist economy and laborers’ only resource was their labor.
Different from Hegel, Marx was convinced that the only way to improve the
human condition was through material (not subjective) realities and conflicts.
Marx’s ultimate hope was that society would progressively move towards (and
achieve) an arrangement where humans could capitalize on their species being: the
unique human ability that humans have to create. Marx argued that when people are
no longer able to control their creative process, they are alienated from the very
essence of their humanity. This element of Marx’s work is particularly relevant to
our thinking about higher education, as it touches upon labor, labor conditions, and
being able to control one’s labor process. On the whole, we borrow and return to two
key ideas from Marx throughout this chapter: (1) that change comes through a
dialectical process involving both ideas and material—an assumption that challenges
the functionalist commitments inherent in much of organizational theory (Kezar &
Dee, 2011; Pasque & Carducci, 2015) and (2) the realization that organizations as
workplaces are sites of human interaction, seeded in historical relations, and should
offer people the opportunity to capitalize on their species being.
It is important to note that there was an ideational element to Marx’s work, in that
he stressed people come to know the world and make sense of the world through
ideas advanced by the ruling class. This element of Marx’s work provided significant
impetus for the Frankfurt School’s critical theory approach (Burrell & Morgan,
1979/2006), which influences a great deal of our thinking in this chapter. The
Frankfurt School, which included scholars like Adorno, Habermas and Horkheimer,
was deeply concerned with inequities and injustices, but employed a more cultural or
interpretive lens than that of structural Marxism. In other words, the Frankfurt
School shed light on the importance of symbols, language, and the idea that knowl-
edge in itself is a resource of power. Moreover, Frankfurt scholars stressed that
knowledge is never neutral—that it is tacitly passed along (and normalized) through
various kinds of exchanges. To this point, the Frankfurt School proceeded on and
provided two assumptions that we draw from throughout our writing: (1) knowledge
claims are never value-free and are always marked by larger societal context, and
one’s position in that context (also see Freire, 1970/2000) and (2) the most taken-for-
granted and seemingly mundane convention is deserving of interrogation, including
how we understand organizations, or the taken-for-granted nature of organizations.
Critical feminist, critical race feminist, intersectional, and Indigenous scholarship
has pushed on the critical paradigm from multiple directions in order to spotlight the
implications of existing in white imperialist and patriarchal capitalist society (hooks,
2015) as a non-dominant person—whether one is a minoritized brown body, a gay or
working class person, an immigrant person, or a non-gender conforming person
(Anzaldúa, 1999; Brayboy, 2013; Brayboy, Solyom, Castagno, 2015; Carson, 2014;
516 L. D. Gonzales et al.

Chang, 2011; Collins, 1986; Crenshaw, 1991, 2016; hooks, 2015; Mu~noz &
Maldonado, 2012; Prasad & Stablein, 2012; Wing, 2003). A central aim of critical
race, critical race feminist, and Indigenous, as well as post- or anti-colonial work is to
expose how structural and cultural arrangements result in distinct and disparate
experiences and outcomes for people who are not in the majority (e.g., people of
color, women, non-binary, queer, or working class). Scholars who work in this vein
show how powerful institutions, like the state, the courts, schools, and the labor
market privilege white, masculine, and western-centric ways of being and
“presenting.” Indeed, scholars working in these areas also often aim to create
space for multiple forms of knowledge and knowledge claims (Collins, 1986;
Delgado Bernal, Burciaga, & Carmona, 2012; Dotson, 2012) and share “counter-
narratives” (Delgado & Stefancic, 2012) or “oppositional knowledge” (Collins,
1986) to highlight how non-dominant groups live, thrive, and survive in the face
of structural and cultural marginalization. We continuously draw on these commit-
ments as we reimagine organizational theory in this chapter.
Whereas critical theory started with structural theories like Marxism, it eventually
evolved to include interpretive and eventually anti-foundationalist perspectives, like
post-structuralism and postmodernism (Lather, 1992; Martínez-Alemán, 2015).
Post-perspectives elicit a skeptical view of the world and urge one to consider how
power is not only located in material and structural conditions, but also disbursed
through communicative and symbolic means and always with material conse-
quences. Thus, post-structuralism interrogates how text, talk, and symbols come
together to form taken-for-granted concepts, such as “gender” or “immigrant,” or in
the specific case of higher education, “prestige” and “excellence.” We revisit the
notion that power is lodged in the texts and artifacts that organizations use to bring
their organizations to life on a daily basis, and with very real material consequences.
Different from post-structuralism, the aims of postcolonial, decolonial, or anti-
colonial thought5 add to the critical paradigm in important ways. Post-colonial
thought challenges the modernist thrust located in Marxist theory, which the Frank-
furt School carried on as well. In this way, post-colonialism rejects the promise of
modernity as it is often cast as an outcome of Western creations (e.g., Western
science, bureaucracy, time use) and imposed on people around the world through
imperial tactics. To this point, Prasad and Stablein (2012) noted:
. . .although postcolonialism does draw upon the resources of. . . . Marxism or post-
structuralism to critique cultural and structural reproduction manifest in political and eco-
nomic arrangements, it also repeatedly deviates from them in highly creative and significant
ways (p. 15).

Thus, postcolonial and decolonial thought are included as part of the critical
paradigm because each interrogates and deconstructs in the name of human

5
Post-colonialism accounts for the effects of colonialism, whereas anti-colonialism challenges the
notion that colonization has ended. Decolonial or decolonization centers Indigenous peoples and the
repatriation of their land.
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 517

emancipation, but it does so by often decentering Western thought and challenging

epistemic imperialism (Shahjahan, 2013).
In sum, the critical paradigm, as we have constructed it for the purposes of this
chapter, furnishes powerful ideas, commitments, and values that we use to reimagine
organizational theory. For one, whereas most organizational theories are intended to
“manage” an entity, critical theories question the implications of managerial tactics
that fail to understand workplaces as sites of human activity, aspiration, and poten-
tial. Moreover, whereas most organizational theories treat organizations as neutral
sites, or strive to neutralize the human element of organizations, theories within the
critical paradigm see the necessity in recognizing the human element, and particu-
larly how humans are positioned differently in society. Additionally, whereas
organizational theories can and do consider the views and experiences of people,
most organizational theories do not conceptualize those views and experiences of
people as indicators of the human condition, but merely as entry points for producing
better organizational results. And finally, whereas most organizational theories
elevate one leader and their singular ability to control and interpret information in
strategic ways, critical theories embrace diverse knowledges experiences for the
purpose of making justice-driven transformation. Indeed, before moving forward, it
is timely to point out that we refer to leaders and leadership in at least two ways.
First, when communicating conventional organizational theories, especially the first
three schools of thought, leadership is often operationalized according to positional
leadership. In reimagining organizational theory through the critical paradigm and in
conjunction with the specific theories that we rely on to animate the critical para-
digm, we tend to lean towards collective, distributed notion of leadership/leader
(Kezar, 2000). This is because the critical paradigm compels one to recognize that
leadership comes from everywhere and that people throughout an organization and a
community can make valuable contributions despite their position (Kezar, 2000;
Ospina & Foldy, 2009; Santamaría & Santmaría, 2012). Having laid out several key
ideas and commitments from the critical paradigm, we now set out to fully discuss
and reimagine each school of thought.

6
It is important to note that each school of thought could be reimagined in many ways if one
leverages the critical paradigm in its fullest scope. However, to advance a concrete argument, we
reimagine conventional organizational traditions by leveraging the critical paradigm in very specific
ways. Specifically, we chose to leverage the critical paradigm in ways that allowed us to show
commonalities or potential points of convergences between the organizational and critical
perspective.
7
Other scholars have used classical, rational, modernist, or managerialism to describe the set
of theories we describe here (see Kezar, 2011; Morgan, 2006; Tierney, 1987).
518 L. D. Gonzales et al.

11.3 Reviewing and Reimagining Organizational Theories

This section—the heart of this chapter—includes four sub-sections. In each subsec-

tion, we describe and then reimagine each school of thought.6 Then, we conclude
each subsection by applying the conventional and reimagined renditions of the
organizational theory to one of the issues introduced earlier in the chapter (e.g.,
labor justice, intersectional justice, reparative justice, epistemic justice). To break up
the text for each subsection, we have designed one-page summaries that may be
helpful to readers as they work through the argument.

11.3.1 Scientific Management School of Thought7

We begin our discussion with the scientific management school of thought which
foregrounds organizational design, standardization, and the division of labor. Sci-
entific management is perhaps best known via the work of Frederick Taylor. Taylor
was an engineer, who studied and designed workplaces for private industry. He
viewed organizations with an insider’s view which led him to conceptualize orga-
nizations as closed systems focused on the internal workings. In this way, Taylor
believed that organizations worked through top-down approaches—leaders set goals
and employees or laborers simply followed. Taylor suggested that if organizational
managers designed the correct structures and processes, human influences and
proclivities for error could be neutralized.
Given its focus on control and design, the scientific management school of
thought is also highly focused on management or managerial roles. Henri Fayol’s
(1949) work is particularly central to how scientific management conceptualizes
organizations and organizational leadership. Fayol held that management’s most
important responsibility was to articulate organizational rules, roles, and to uphold
those rules and roles in a consistent fashion. Fayol outlined 14 distinct principles for
formal leaders stressing that leaders must ensure a clear division of labor so that
employees understand their expectations. Fayol noted that disciplinary systems were
important instruments to ensure employee understanding and compliance. It might
be difficult to imagine how Taylor or Fayol’s approach would work in a college or
university setting but Weber’s work illustrates how such ideas came to influence
complex organizations including those where people had a more variable range of
discretion and agency.
Specifically, Max Weber (1948) observed that Western organizations seemed to
be developing in ways that maintained the controls and structures so valued by
Taylor and Fayol but through the use of implicit rules and intricate systems of
organizing people. Weber dubbed this new organizational form the “modern orga-
nization” or “bureaucracy.” He noted that the modern organization was comprised of
six characteristics: (1) the division of labor into smaller tasks and more clearly
defined roles for improved accountability; (2) a managerial hierarchy or a clear
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 519

outline as to how positions were related; (3) formal selection in place of nepotism;
(4) career orientation or the idea that one could professionally mobilize; (5) formal
written rules over taken for granted norms; and (6) impersonality or detachment from
one’s work. These six elements worked together to provide a framework
to guide employees and managers. Although restrictive, the practice of bureaucracy
quickly spread leading Weber to the following reflection:
Bureaucratization offers above all the optimum possibility for carrying through the principle
of specializing administrative functions according to purely objective considerations. Indi-
vidual performances are allocated to functionaries who have specialized training and who by
constant practice increase their expertise. “Objective” discharge of business means a dis-
charge of business according to calculable rules and without regard for persons. (as cited in
Appelrouth and Edles, 2008, p. 191)

Weber had not only noticed the form and structures of the modern organization but
the approach to management. He noted that historically, authority had rested on three
types of legitimacy: (1) tradition; (2) rational/legal bases; or (3) charisma. Tradi-
tional authority, according to Weber, was supported by a belief in the “sanctity of
immemorial traditions” and was typically passed along through family legacy (e.g,
respect for family elders). Charismatic authority was based on the belief in the
character of an individual which is unique and involves some level of heroism,
mysticism, or magic. However, the modern organization form eschewed both
tradition and charisma and instead expected leaders to have some formal, legal, or
professional credential (see Scott & Davis, 2007).
The theories that constitute the scientific management school of thought inform
common approaches to higher education. For example, higher education’s twists on
scientific management include “total quality management” and “accountability” or
“audit” systems (Deem & Brehony, 2005; Kanji, Malek, & Tambi, 1999; Teelken,
2012). All three of these approaches encourage higher education leaders to delineate
and clarify employee roles and expectations to the greatest degree possible so that
leaders can measure, award, or penalize employees for their productivity. Designing
roles and defining role performance in such ways assumes that humans and context
can be neutralized with the right process; that humans do not or should not inform
the labor process since they do not hold authority and only have their labor to offer;
and that all labor can be measured via objective measures.

11.3.2 Reimagining Scientific Management

Here, we reimagine the scientific management school of thought. Recall that in the
introduction we noted that we planned to appropriate any utility from conventional
organizational theories and reimagine them for a more just approach to administra-
tion. In this case, we want to hold on to the fact that scientific management alerted
researchers to the importance of examining roles and processes of the organization
because of the very real and inescapable fact that all colleges and universities,
especially public ones, are accountable to the larger public. However, in pulling
520 L. D. Gonzales et al.

from the critical paradigm, it is possible to think about organizational workplaces—

role designs, processes, and outcomes—in radically different ways.
To reimagine scientific management, we draw from two bodies of work that are
firmly situated in the critical paradigm: critical management studies (Spicer,
Alvesson, & Karrëman, 2009) and collective leadership (Contractor, DeChurch,
Carson, Carter, & Keegan, 2012; Kezar, 2000, 2001). Similar to scientific manage-
ment, critical management and collective leadership perspectives recognize the
importance of leadership and the necessity for organizations to meet their goals.
When blended together, these theories can promote a critically informed version of
scientific management that keeps organizational roles, goals, and performance in
mind while they are defined though collective or shared leadership rather than
singular, positional leaders. Next, we unpack and then connect these two theories.
Critical management studies was developed in the United Kingdom in the 1990s.
It draws heavily from Marxian thought especially Marx’s concern for human
emancipation as well as post-modernism and post-structuralism (Spicer et al.,
2009). The post-theoretical bent in critical management studies is particularly
helpful for deconstructing taken-for-granted organizational norms and conventions
such as what constitutes work, leadership, or even professional freedom (Maravelias,
2003). On the whole, critical management offers two insights about organizations.
First, it highlights that the rules, policies, and goals that guide an organization are not
neutral constructions but represent the interests of the elite. In this way, critical
management immediately prompts one to interrogate the rules, policies and goals as
they have been defined. From a critical management perspective, one questions,
what is the political nature, or who are the winners and losers in relation to said rules,
policies, and goals? Second and relatedly, one asks leaders to realize that organiza-
tions are not merely places where people work on tasks but spaces where relations of
power circulate between workers, between workers and leaders, and between
workers and their work. Guided by a critical management view, a leader understands
that the work process as it is shared and distributed among workers is a political
situation likely riddled with several tensions and inequities such as when employees
are paid differently for the same work. Moreover, inspired by CMS, leaders are
forced to ask how the organization’s structure and governance process allows people
to define their work or to have a stake in their own labor process.
This is where notions of collective leadership become important. Proponents of
collective leadership which is sometimes called shared or distributed leadership,
suggests that leadership is not the property of one individual but that people
throughout an organization have the capacity to contribute and inform the
on-goings of the organization (Contractor et al., 2012). Collective leadership,
when intentionally paired with critical management, would compel formal leaders
to unleash their leadership authority and invite laborers into the process of defining
work settings, thinking through organizational goals, and setting performance mea-
sures that are not only sensible to the organization’s goals but also sensible to the
context and conditions of laborers and their labor. This approach to organizing is
similar to “worker cooperatives” (Burdin & Dean, 2009) where an organization’s
“labor force chooses the management and the administrative structure using a
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 521

democratic political process” (p. 518) and aligns well with higher education’s
historic—although declining—approach to shared governance (Bleiklie & Kogan,
2007; Rhoades, 2005; Stensaker & Vabø, 2013).
It is important, in our view, to note that when one pulls these theories together, it
is not necessary to fully do away with what has been learned from scientific
management. Both critical management and collective leadership recognize the
importance of leadership, defining goals and work roles, and ensuring that an
organization is achieving its goals. However, these theories challenge the idea that
work processes, roles, and goals must be defined in a hierarchal way, and it also
challenges the idea that these processes are absent of politics and power. Holding the
conventional and reimagined versions in mind, we now consider how they each
allows an organization to address the issue of labor justice. Specifically, we highlight
the declining status and security of the academic profession as well as gaps in labor
experiences and outcomes for tenure-line and non-tenure line faculty who often hold
very similar academic qualifications.
Application: Labor Justice and the Academic Profession The academic profes-
sion was once constituted by a majority of full-time, tenure-track professors.
Although there has always been variation according to states and institutional
types, professors were paid a livable salary, received health, life, and retirement
benefits, and enjoyed a certain degree of respect and deference due to society’s trust
in their hard-earned educational credentials and expertise (Finkelstein, Seal, &
Schuster, 1998; Bowen & Schuster, 1986). Although it varied, faculty were expected
to teach, research, and provide service to their institution and their discipline. The
constitution of this role assumed that these activities were complementary and
allowed professionals to think about their work and roles through a more holistic
lens. After a 7-year review period, faculty had the opportunity to be reviewed for the
purposes of promotion and tenure. Tenure, which grants a faculty member a seem-
ingly permanent position—barring any egregious affair—was intended to encour-
age, even provoke faculty to push the boundaries in their teaching and research by
pursuing necessary, perhaps risky, or not well-understood lines of inquiry and
knowledge production.
Today’s professoriate in the U.S. and across the globe is constituted in radically
different ways. Specifically, in the United States, non-tenure line faculty or adjuncts
make up about 70% of the academic labor market with part-time faculty comprising
about 51% of the academic workforce (Campaign for the Future of Higher Educa-
tion, 2015). In the United Kingdom, Huisman, de Weert & Bartelse (2002) estimated
that “30% of the staff in traditional universities, 40% in former polytechnics, and
95% of contract research staff are employed on temporary contracts” (p. 146). While
the situation differs from country to country within the EU, there is generally a high
demand from new doctoral graduates for the few new academic positions available
in European universities (Kwiek & Antonowicz, 2015). In India where there is a
high demand for higher education, there are governmental restrictions for the hiring
of permanent full time faculty at universities yielding an established pattern of
temporary contract employment (Tilak & Mathew, 2016).
522 L. D. Gonzales et al.

For the most part, in hiring adjuncts, higher education organizations place faculty
into positions where they are expected to focus either on teaching or research to
streamline or make one’s work activity more efficient (Rhoades & Olave-Torres,
2015). In most cases, faculty in research-focused positions which tend to be tenure-
lines, earn more and have access to better benefits. Meanwhile in teaching-focused
positions which tend to be non-tenure or part-time positions, faculty earn less
(CFHE, 2015). Thus, hiring adjunct faculty is not only a way to define roles and
streamline work tasks but it a cost-saving move.
When one digs further into these numbers, especially recent data on the
U.S. professoriate, which reveals that women of color fill a disproportionate number
of part-time, non-tenured faculty member positions (Finkelstein et al., 2016) just as
they have since the 1970s, it becomes clear how colleges and universities have
become complicit in the (re)production of labor injustice. On the one hand, the
inequitable salary differentials as well as the resource and support differentials
experienced by these groups of faculty constitute one injustice. On the other hand,
basic workload expectations constitute another injustice. Specifically, while tenure-
line faculty must handle growing administrative demands, programming,
and accountability, contingent faculty, especially those working part-time, must
work multiple jobs at multiple institutions to create a livable salary. Additionally,
non-tenure-line faculty are usually not incorporated into departmental or institutional
service and often lack access to the most basic of professional resources (e.g.,
offices, ongoing professional development, library access), which leads to sub-par
teaching and learning conditions for faculty and students alike (Moorehead, Russell,
& Pula, 2015).
Taken together, the academic profession has been unbundled and pulled apart
(Bansel, Davies, Gannon, & Linnel, 2008; Gehrke & Kezar, 2015; Lorenz, 2012;
Rhoades & Olave-Torres, 2015). From a scientific management perspective,
unbundling the faculty role makes sense. Administrators have more control over
role definition and can maximize organizational resources—something leaders are
particularly sensitive to in today’s resource-constrained higher education environ-
ment. Further in line with scientific management, when faculty roles are pulled apart,
it becomes easier to evaluate (and reward) faculty on the basis of indicators, like the
number of courses or students taught, the number of articles published, or the
amount of grant money one is awarded. On this note, unbundling assumes that the
nature of teaching, research, and service is measurable by number of hours spent,
students served, or committees staffed.
However, when insights from critical management and collective leadership are
infused into scientific management, different questions and concerns emerge. First,
higher education leaders are forced to confront the fact that unbundling is not a
neutral economic decision but a decision with the potential to dramatically change
the conditions of other people’s lives including their livelihood, health, and safety—
and so it is a decision that serves some, but not all, or even the majority. Starting
from this grounding, a critical management stance would compel positional leaders
to ask to what extent they can use their platform to orient the academic hiring and
evaluative process towards equity. Because university and college presidents are
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 523

expected to present boards with data-based strategic plans, they can reorient the
process of academic hiring by highlighting research that illustrates the negative
consequences attached to the reliance on adjunct faculty (e.g., slower and lower
graduation rates, lower performance in subsequent courses, especially in mathemat-
ics (Bettinger & Long, 2005; Umbach, 2007). Empirical research can also be
supplemented by student voices and data gathered through institutional research
efforts. In these various ways, leadership disposes of the neutrality that scientific
management perspectives assign to organizational goals in order to advocate not
only a fairer labor process, but better conditions for teaching and learning.
However, the conditions of labor can only be made just if faculty are given an
opportunity to further define their work, their roles, and the goals of the organization.
When paired together, critical management and collective leadership perspectives
compel leaders to eschew the idea that they understand the nature and nuances of
faculty work in the ways or to the depths that their faculty do. This is where formal
leaders, following collective leadership, invite faculty into the policy making, role
designing, and goal setting process in line with the historic convention of shared
governance. Rather than create structures and processes that define faculty work and
outcomes from the top, formal leaders can ask faculty members to suggest such
structures and processes. Faculty members know the nature of teaching, research,
and service best, and are best suited to redesign faculty roles and workloads and
could inform how such work should be measured (Kezar & Maxey, 2016). Incor-
porating faculty into such leadership conversations also would represent an oppor-
tunity to allow these individuals to redefine the meaning of their work in today’s
contemporary context.
Even more pragmatically, formal leaders could ask both tenure-track and adjunct
faculty to design “base packages” of resources that each person no matter their
appointment type, would receive at hiring. The goal of such base packages would be
to position all faculty to feel supported and encouraged in their work (e.g., email,
access to institutional library and online resources, parking permits, office space with
dependable technology, basic benefits). Designing such base packages is especially
important for adjunct faculty who make less and who tend to be women of color who
already face persistent salary inequities throughout their careers (Finkelstein et al.,
2016).
Taken together, a reimagined version of scientific management compels formal
leadership to consider that although some practices and policies have become
normalized, such as hiring adjunct faculty, they are not necessarily sound or just,
nor are they neutral just because they are organizational goals. Instead, as we have
shown here, when universities unbundle the academic profession, labor injustice has
followed. If and when leaders are willing to share leadership by asking faculty to
define roles, work processes, and articulate viable goals and necessary resources in
light of the very real constraints that public universities are facing, labor justice
seems more possible.
524 L. D. Gonzales et al.

Section Summary
Scientific management proposes a closed-systems perspective and is concerned with
aligning the internal functions of the organizations such that leaders, managers and
workers know and adhere to the mission of the organization. As a school of thought
it foregrounds control, stability, and assumes that an organization’s rational and
linear structure is both neutral and progressive. In this chapter, we reimagined
scientific management with critical management and collective leadership
approaches. Like scientific management, both of these perspectives understand and
accept the need to produce and demonstrate outcomes, but each asks how leaders can
structure organizations in order to have laborers inform role designs and labor
processes. Critical management recognizes that there are power structures within
organizations and therefore neutrality in goals, policies and procedures cannot be
assumed. Critical management studies suggests humanizing the organization leader-
ship’s central task. Collective leadership further challenges the notion of formal or
hierarchical leadership and posits that anyone within an organization can have a say
in outlining its affairs. A reimagined version of scientific management brings into
focus how organizational systems can be unjust, counterproductive, or even spe-
cious. Scientific management reimagined with critical management studies and
collective leadership requires the humanization of organizational systems while
keeping in mind organizational goals and targets (Fig. 11.1).

11.3.3 Organizational Behavior School of Thought8

Here, we present a school of thought that we call organizational behavior. The

theories in this school of thought are sometimes associated with the human relations
or the human resource movement. Although organizational behavior represents an
eclectic school of thought but on the whole, its consistently focused on the intersec-
tion of individuals with one another, individuals and groups, and individuals
in relation the organization writ large (Fugate & Kinicki, 2016). Organizational
behavior theorists believe that organizations perform better when the needs and
desires of people are being met (Maslow, 1943). Although it may seem like there are
parallels between organizational behavior and our reimagined version of scientific
management, organizational behavior is particularly attuned to individual and group

8
Some writers describe the theories presented in this subsection as “neoclassical” to suggest that
they are a direct response to classical or what we termed scientific management perspectives above
(Shafritz et al., 2006). We deliberately chose not to center scientific management perspectives
and therefore chose not to refer to them as “classic.” Some might also suggest that organizational
behavior is only limited to the actual practice or organizational behavior techniques (Fugate &
Kinicki, 2016), but we have tried to position it as a broader school of thought that includes human
behavior perspectives and a concern for human relations.
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 525

Key Descriptors and Assumptions

Scientific Management Reimagined Scientific Management

• Top down alignment • Radical humanism
• Organization as a machine • Organization as a human system
• Role specialization • Critical interrogation
• Rational • Equity and justice
• Efficiency • Emancipation from oppression
• Effectiveness • Management ideologies

Commonalities between Scientific Management and Reimagined Scientific Management

• Roles, processes, structures

• Quantifiable conditions (efficiency, productivity, profit)
• Assumption that formal and tangible organizational structures and systems can be designed and controlled
to impact human and organizational performance in desired ways

Typical Questions

• How can we learn from faculty how to best

• What are the best ways to organize faculty
organize their work?
to ensure high productivity and efficiency?
• How are work arrangements supporting or
• What is the return on investment on grant-
suppressing faculty’s ability to develop their
writing professional development
professional identity and to function fully at
workshops for faculty?
work?

Fig. 11.1 Conventional and reimagined versions of scientific management

dynamics. Additionally, the aims of organizational behavior theory are always quite
strategic, in that, organizational behavior seeks to elevate human needs and relations
to improve organizational performance rather than as a way to foster the full
humanity of people or to ensure that the organizational work place is a site of justice.
In this way, organizational behavior operates from a more transactional than trans-
formational logic.
Like scientific management and early organizational theory, in general, organi-
zational behavior stresses the role of formal leaders but in this school of thought,
leaders should serve, model, and inspire rather than manage, enforce, and discipline.
Writers like Chester Barnard (1938) argued that organizational success was contin-
gent on a leader’s ability to create a vision, communicate that vision, and help people
understand how each one of them is a part of that vision, and thus connected to one
another. A distinguishing feature of Barnard’s writing was the realization that
organizations are collections of humans with variable interests and strengths that a
leader might leverage to achieve organizational ends. In this way, although organi-
zational behavior elevates a singular leader at the top of a hierarchy, the leader’s
work is much more relational than the leader idealized in Taylor’s work. Barnard’s
influence is evident in leadership-member exchange, transformational, servant lead-
ership theories (Bass, 1990; Mahoney, 2002; Jones, LeFoe, Harvey, & Garland,
526 L. D. Gonzales et al.

2012; Sergiovanni, 1990; Vasillopulos & Denney, 2013), which are often
highlighted in education administration courses (Marion & Gonzales, 2013; Pasque
& Carducci, 2015). In different ways, these theories lead a researcher to account for
how a leader’s presence and approach encourage organizational member commit-
ment or shape employee morale.
While Barnard stressed a leader’s relational role, Mary Parker Follett (1926)
suggested that performance could be boosted through wide-spread not only
top-down human relations. Thus, Follett urged leaders to nurture democratic
approaches to governance, to build relationships with employees, and most impor-
tantly, to help them build relationships with one another. Follett’s work is often
described as democratic because she encouraged leaders to learn from their
employees in order to improve work processes. Finally, Follett argued that instruc-
tions given in authoritative and domineering ways by supervisors increases the
distance between supervisors and employees and makes employees less likely to
commit to their work and their organization. Follet’s work was quite revolutionary at
the time. She elevated the importance of human relations, stressed the importance of
learning from employees, and sought to flatten the organization in ways that now
seem quite popular. In higher education, scholars have drawn from Follett in studies
concerning organizational commitment and job satisfaction (see Daly & Dee, 2006;
O’Meara et al., 2017).
Theories focused on human decision-making represent a slightly different dimen-
sion in the organizational behavior school of thought. Whereas some perspectives
stress relational aspects, decision-making theorists want to understand why individ-
uals act in certain ways—how people make particular decisions with regard to work
(Shafritz, Ott, & Jang, 2006). The thinking behind decision-making theory is that if
organizational leadership can understand what motivates people or what encourages
people to give more energy to their work, then such knowledge can be used as levers
for productivity. Herbert Simon (1946), a central writer in the decision-making
genre, noted that an individual’s decision-making is always “bound” (p. 64) or
limited by factors, like physiological and mental processes, values and beliefs,
technical know-how, and imperfect information (also see Manning, 2013). Cyert
and March (1959) theorized that an organization is held together by various coali-
tions with different goals. Cyert and March argued that if one wants to maintain or
improve an organization then one has to account for the various goals held by
stakeholders. In the higher education context, a researcher might leverage
decision-making theory by accounting for how various coalitions, such as academic
administrators, faculty, and regents negotiate between their various, competing goals
(see Eckel, 2000; Pfeffer & Salanick, 1974). Decision-making theorists pointed out
that conflict is inevitable in organizations since they are constituted by various
coalitions that hold their own agendas but managing this conflict rather than
dissecting it or asking why coalitions formed in the first place were not questions
initially raised by this line of work.
Taken together, the organizational behavior school of thought constitutes a robust
set of views on organizations. Some of these views elevate the role of transformative
leaders in raising and sustaining the morale and commitment of employees; some
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 527

elevate the role of leaders as fostering conditions for employees to build relations
with one another and offer advice to the organization; and finally, some views
emphasize how and why humans act in certain ways, why people are motivated
and compelled to make certain decisions over others, and how the organization
might attend to people’s various dispositions.

11.3.4 Reimagining the Organizational Behavior School

of Thought

Here, we reimagine organizational behavior. However, there are elements of orga-

nizational behavior that we want to maintain. First, organizational behavior theory’s
emphasis on human relationships and human dispositions as a way to understand and
approach organizational mission is valuable. Second, organizational behavior espe-
cially Follett’s work, stressed that employees have important insights to offer to
organizational leadership—an assumption that aligns well with higher education
where shared decision making power is tradition (Jones et al., 2012; Rhoades, 2005;
Stensaker & Vabø, 2013).
And yet, for all the human-centered insights that organizational behavior brought
to organizational theory, and which higher education researchers draw from today
(Berger, 2000; Umbach & Wawrzynski, 2005; Umbach & Porter, 2002), the orga-
nizational behavior school of thought fails to acknowledge how power is inscribed in
any and all human relationships and interactions.9 When organizations are filled with
people from diverse histories, social locations, and otherwise differentially posi-
tioned groups, relations of power cannot be ignored, particularly if one wants to
administer an organization that is committed to justice and inclusion.
Thus, we reimagine organizational behavior by threading it with insights from
applied critical leadership (Santamaría & Santamaría, 2012) and intersectionality
(Crenshaw, 1991, 2016). Whereas applied critical leadership foregrounds the trans-
formative possibilities inscribed to formal leadership positions, intersectionality
inspires a deeper historical account of human relations and accounts for the impact
of multiple forms of marginality. Here, we describe each of these theories and show
how they align well with the kinds of concerns and questions relevant to organiza-
tional behavior.
Applied critical leadership (Santamaría & Santamaría, 2012) draws together ideas
from transformational leadership, critical pedagogy, and critical race theory. Applied
critical leadership provides a theoretical grounding that is not only critical but
pragmatic. Specifically, applied critical leadership focuses on a leader’s transforma-
tive potential to ensure that educational institutions function as spaces of social

9
It should be noted that Follett did address power in her writing. However, her writing about power
was general and not usually attached to any specific social relations defined by gender, race, and
so on.
528 L. D. Gonzales et al.

justice. Fundamental to a leader’s work is the need to seriously reflect on their own
identities and privileges. Santamaría and Santamaria (2012) stress that a leader must
be aware of how their “identities interrupt or enable [their] ability to see alternative
perspectives.” (p. 8). If one considers that the majority of high-ranking leaders on
U.S. post-secondary campuses are white and male and that the representation of
minoritized leaders declined across all racial and ethnic groups between 2008 and
2013 (American Council on Education, 2013), such reflexive work is particularly
important, as white men operate from privileged grounding.
Moreover, such reflexive work is imperative for the next phase of applied critical
leadership which draws from critical pedagogy (Freire, 1970). Critical pedagogy is
an emancipatory approach to teaching and learning and applied critical leadership
suggests that transformation hinges not only on the willingness of leaders to be
reflexive about their positionality but also on their willingness to foster organization
wide learning (see Gonzales, 2015a). For example, a reflexive leader practicing
applied critical leadership would recognize how their positionality limits or inter-
feres with their understanding or ability to know certain things (e.g., what it is like to
be a first-generation student, how power dynamics feel to women when entering an
all-male meeting), and then a formal leader works with others who are better
positioned to teach, share, and even make policy on such items. Thus, similar to
organizational behavior, Santamaría and Santamaría (2012) believed in the transfor-
mative potential of leaders. Like Follett’s take on organizational behavior, applied
critical leadership recognizes the need to foster both horizontal and vertical relations.
However, applied critical leadership is insufficient for reimagining organizational
behavior, as it prioritizes the role of the positional leader but does not go far enough
in considering the many types of relationships that exist in an organization and how
those shape particular conditions and consequences for various groups of people.
To broaden and also deepen organizational behavior’s understanding of relation-
ships, we draw from intersectionality. Kimberlé Crenshaw coined the term
intersectionality—variably described as a theory, a framework, a methodology, or
a heuristic—in the mid 1980s after accepting a law suit involving a Black woman
named Emma DeGraffenreid. DeGraffenreid filed a suit claiming race and gender
discrimination against a manufacturing plant where she had applied for a position
but was not hired. DeGraffenreid believed—and Crenshaw went on to document—
that she was not hired because the business was attending to gender and racial equity
as if they operated on distinct tracks as if gender and race never crossed. Specifically,
when hiring racially minoritized people, the plant tended to hire Black men, usually
for physically laborious jobs. When the plant hired women, it tended to hire only
white women, usually into secretarial jobs. DeGraffeneid’s case exposed what it
means to live at the intersections of structures, law, and cultural norms that do not
include one, or fail to account for one, who is multiply marginalized. In this way,
Crenshaw stresses that intersectionality is not about identities but about how struc-
tures render consequences for people who hold multiple marginalized identities (also
see Anthias, 2013).
Several scholars in several fields have further developed, or clarified,
intersectionality. For example, Dill and Zambrana (2009) suggested that
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 529

intersectionality is committed to four values or practices. First, it elevates the

experiences of racially minoritized and otherwise marginalized people. Second, it
eschews essentialist views of identity, including group identity. For example,
intersectionality theorists reject the notion that all people who identify and present
as women experience the social world the same way; this is because women are also
racialized, come from a certain economic class, have diverse native languages, and
live in a world where all of those variables come to matter. Third, intersectionality
pays attention to how large institutions, like courts and schools, work together. For
instance, as of 2017, the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission has
stated that LGBT persons are a protected class. If for some reasons, such protections
were rolled back, there would be implications in hiring practices or within public
school practices. In this way, large institutions draw from one another in ways that
affect marginalized groups. Fourth and finally, intersectionality stresses that social
science research should be used to advocate for multiply marginalized people, who
are sometimes made invisible by institutions and policies.
Together, applied critical leadership and intersectionality challenge leaders to be
reflexive before engaging in their work or with their members. For example, while
organizational behavior suggests that it is important for leaders to ask employees for
advice, intersectionality compels one to recognize how power, related to the differ-
ent positionalities of leaders and employees, is inscribed in such an interaction.
These theories also sharpen the focus that organizational behavior places on human
relationships and interactions with one another as well as with the organization itself.
For instance, while organizational behavior might stress the importance of collegi-
ality, intersectionality asks, “What does collegiality mean, and does it include
everyone? Is collegiality a way towards community or is it a way towards compel-
ling conformity?” We now consider how organizational behavior and its reimagined
rendition allows one to address intersectional justice in relation to diversity efforts.
Application: Intersectional Justice—Rethinking Diversity Work Across the
globe, whiteness, racism, and sexism pervade central societal institutions, including
health care, education, and the government (Ahmed, 2007, 2012, 2017; Ehrenreich
& Hochschild, 2003; Leonardo, 2009). While it is true that racism, sexism, and
classism (along with other isms) manifest differently in different parts of the world in
context-specific ways, research shows that, in the context of education and higher
education, people of color, especially women of color and trans* women of color,
experience particularly daunting, layered, and often violent forms of marginalization
(Ahmed, 2017; Kosciw, Greytak, Bartkiewicz, Boesen, & Palmer, 2012; Pérez-
Bustos, 2014).
Thus, it is quite typical for post-secondary organizations, no matter where they
are located, to administer diversity and inclusion efforts (e.g., offices, programs,
initiatives) (Ahmed, 2012, 2017; Deem & Ozga, 2000; Cross, 2004). For example,
Cross (2004) documented South African universities striving to define and advance
diversity across their campuses. Ahmed (2012) interviewed several diversity
workers throughout the U.K. and found that diversity efforts on campus made
colleagues uncomfortable (see Chap. 2 especially). Similarly, Berrey (2011) showed
that, in the U.S. higher education, diversity efforts typically fail and ultimately
530 L. D. Gonzales et al.

undermine racial justice. So, on the one hand, diversity efforts are ubiquitous, and on
the other hand, they rarely yield transformative results. The research also shows that
women and people of color are often charged to lead or be the face of diversity
efforts (Ahmed, 2017; Turner & González, 2011).
From an organizational behavior perspective, universities initiating diversity
efforts makes sense. After all, a key assumption of organizational behavior is that
organizations are more likely to fulfill their missions when morale is high and when
the leader has displayed a commitment not only to the organization but to its
members as well. In using an organizational behavior lens, leaders might articulate
their own ideals and commitments to diversity in order to initiate a diversity effort.
They might look out to members of the organization to further define the initiative, to
identify the level at which the problem operated, and to increase the sense of
ownership that members have in relation to the effort. If working more from the
decision-making domain, a leader might be interested in understanding if there are
optimal conditions that make people more or less inclined to support and engage in
diversity work. In other words, rather than interrogate and dismantle the depths of
racism, sexism, heteronormativity, and other isms, organizational behavior suggests
a cosmetic, rather than a deep or transformative, approach to diversity work (Berrey,
2011; Iverson, 2012; Griffin & Hart, 2016).
However, when informed by applied critical leadership and intersectionality,
university communities would approach diversity work in an entirely different
way. Following applied critical leadership, a leader understands and makes public
their own positionality in order to identify the parameters of their understanding.
Such reflective work is not a part of organizational behavior traditions because it
does not recognize relations of power within and among organizational members nor
does organizational behavior recognize the power inherent in a leader taking on a
learner role. Thus, applied critical leadership would compel leaders to recognize
that before they can address such issues, they must be willing to confront the limits
of their knowledge and understandings of specific issues before meaningfully
engaging in or fostering, what we call, intersectional justice. Adding an
intersectionality lens to applied critical leadership can inform intersectional justice
efforts in an important way. Specifically, because intersectionality is not about
identities but about how structures bring particular meaning, conditions, and conse-
quences to people who hold particular identities, intersectionality forces university
leaders and community members to assess gaps or differences within and across
differences and in relation to specific structures and processes. For example, in
drawing from Anthias’ (2013) work, Nú~nez (2017) showed how Latinx migrant
youth come up against colleges and universities in distinct ways based on their
language, class, and college generation. Taking this example further, an applied
critical leadership and intersectional lens helps a university community recognize the
diversity within populations that are often referred to or dealt with as if they are
monolithic. Imagine that a university’s Latinx population is rapidly growing. It
would not be atypical for many of the staff and professionals who interact with
students to assume that Latinx students are immigrants. However, intersectionality
encourages one to think more carefully about the Latinx population. Whereas Latinx
students might generally experience racism, Latinx migrant students might
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 531

experience particular anxiety tied to class backgrounds as they apply for programs
like College Assistance Migrant Program [CAMP; https://www2.ed.gov/programs/
camp/index.html). Meanwhile, Latinx immigrants are likely to experience racism
layered with nativism, and hypersurveillance as they share personal information to
the university and the governments to request Deferred Action Childhood Arrival
(DACA) (Chang, 2011; Mu~noz & Vigil, forthcoming).
By enhancing organizational behavior with insights from applied critical leader-
ship and intersectionality, leaders can hold on to the importance of human relations
and human interactions in relation to organizational outcomes. However, applied
critical leadership would compel leadership and organizational members to invest
time to investigate and address privileges attached to their identities and histories,
and how those identities allow them to understand (or keep them from understand-
ing) how organizations reproduce sexism, racism, and other isms. Meanwhile,
intersectionality helps members and leaders consider how these isms manifest within
and across groups in different ways.
Section Summary
The organizational behavior school of thought is often seen as an eclectic set of
responses to the top-down, mechanistic predilections of scientific management.
Central to this body of work is belief that organizations can achieve efficiency and
success through the satisfaction of human needs, especially the need for human
connectivity. Like the organizational behavior school of thought, applied critical
leadership and intersectionality understand how important interpersonal relation-
ships and meeting human needs are when it comes to organizational performance but
both also recognizes that people possess complex histories and identities that shape
how they experience the workplace. Applied critical leadership attends to leaders’
role in shaping an inclusive and validating organizational space, but asks leaders to
understand that their own histories, identities, and positionality impacts their ability
to fully understand oppressive circumstances. Intersectionality pushes leaders to be
cognizant of and address the ways in which an institution on its own or interacting
with other institutions affect people who hold particular identities, particularly
People of Color. Organizational behavior reimagined with applied critical manage-
ment and intersectionality requires consideration of how identities, power relations,
and structures interact within an organization—even an organization that is
concerned with human relations and wellness (Fig. 11.2).

11.3.5 Environmental Perspectives as a School of Thought10

In dealing with and prescribing strategies for success, the scientific management and
organizational behavior schools of thought assume a closed-system perspective,

10
Some writers describe the theories within this school of thought as “systems” or “general
systems.” We chose the descriptor environmental because this school of thought turns
a researcher’s attention to external resource providers or influences.
532 L. D. Gonzales et al.

Key Descriptors and Assumptions

Organizational Behavior Reimagined Organizational Behavior

• Cooperation • Power Relations
• Coordination • Leader learning
• Human relations • Identities
• Person-Organization Fit • Intersections
• Informal structure • Confronting Whiteness
• Reflection

Commonalities between Organizational Behavior and Reimagined Organizational Behavior

• Attitudes, groups, relationships

• Interpersonal and social conditions (satisfaction, sense of belonging, prejudices and discrimination)
• Assumption that informal organizational structures and systems can be designed and controlled to impact
human experiences and organizational performance in desired ways

Typical Questions

• How does a higher education administrator

lead the organization toward racial justice?
• How do transformational leaders encourage
In what ways, does this leader provide
members to be a part of the new
learning and reflective conditions?
organizational mission?
• How can campus officers support trans*
• How does the socialization process for new
students? What type of learning and
faculty affect pre-tenure job satisfaction?
unlearning must the organization foster?

Fig. 11.2 Conventional and reimagined versions of organizational behavior

meaning that leaders and researchers focused on the internal design of organizations
(e.g., scientific management) and people within those organizations (e.g., organiza-
tional behavior). However, in the 1950s and 1960s, organizational theory took a
significant turn as thinkers began to contemplate how external conditions shape an
organization’s viability. This shift yielded what we refer to as the open-systems or
environmental school of thought (Marion & Gonzales, 2013; Stern & Barley, 1996).
The environmental school of thought emerged during a moment of social,
political, and civil transformation. Multiple countries were coping with the aftermath
of World War II and the Vietnam War. In the U.S., minoritized and otherwise
marginalized communities (and allies) were advocating for equal rights in massive
numbers. Showing how the civil, social, and political movements influenced the
evolution of organizational theory, Marion and Gonzales noted:
. . .[open] systems theory emerged during an interesting era, one that undoubtedly influenced
its popularization. It was period of social upheaval, a time in which baby boomers. . .were
exercising teenage rebelliousness, a time of liberal politics, a time in which [U.S.] society
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 533

was becoming increasingly concerned about the disenfranchised and alienated. . .In earlier
years people tended to hold individuals solely responsible for their behavior. If someone
failed, it was because of their own shortcomings and not because of shortcomings of the
system itself. . . . Open systems theory, by contrast, [sought] solutions to problems within the
broader context of organizational and environmental dynamics. If a person fail[ed], it is in
part, because of the failures in the system (p. 74).

Thus, whereas previous organizational theories concentrated on internal dynamics,

environmental perspectives argued that organizations can only be understood if one
recognizes that they are part of and affected by a broader environment. Within this
school of thought are various conceptions about the nature of environments and how
environments pressure organizations.
For example, organizational ecology suggests that an organization’s survival is
not only or even primarily dependent on managerial decisions, leadership quality, or
internal organizational design, but on the environmental conditions. Influenced by
biological perspective, ecology theory states that the environment enables survival
(or forces extinction) through natural selection (Carrol, 1984; Hannan & Freeman,
1993; Scott & Davis, 2007; Singh & Lumsden, 1990; Wholey & Brittain, 1986).
Like biologists who argue that a population will either adapt and evolve to the
natural environment or face death, organizational ecologists focus on issues such as
population density, length of an organization’s life, and environmental characteris-
tics, such as policy conditions or labor market conditions that force an organization
to adapt. According to organizational ecology, the most resilient organizations tend
to survive unless they are able to capitalize on specific niche demands. In this way,
organizational ecology theory helps organizations determine if they should serve a
general or niche/specialist purpose. Higher education researchers have used an
ecology perspective to examine when and why some women’s colleges have
remained women-serving institutions while others have loosened gender require-
ments (Morphew, 2009).
Taken together, organizational ecology draws from biological assumptions to
understand and study organizations. While this perspective can help a strategic team
in higher education read how the environment is pressing against a college or
university, it is often critiqued for its overly structural approach and lack of space
for agency. However, resource dependency theory sees the:
[organization] as an open system that is dependent on contingencies in the external envi-
ronment” (Hillman, Withers, & Collins, 2009, p. 1404) [but it also] sees that managers can
act to reduce environmental uncertainty and dependence. (p. 1404)

To this point, Scott and Davis (2007) noted that resource dependency theory is “an
array of tactics organizations use to manage their exchange relations, so as to balance
the need to minimize dependence and uncertainty while also maintaining managerial
autonomy” (p. 221). Resource dependency assumes that people, particularly leaders,
can and should identify information within the external environment in order to
make strategic decisions on behalf of the organization (Callen, Klein, & Tinkelman,
2010; Salancik & Pfeffer, 1978). Thus, proponents of resource dependency suggest
that leaders employ diagnostic activities such as environmental scans and SWOT
534 L. D. Gonzales et al.

analyses11 (Helms & Nixon, 2010) in order to gather such information. With
environmental scans, leaders consider the behaviors of their resource providers
and competitors in order to make assessments about potential changes that might
affect the organization. Resource dependency theory is used quite frequently in
higher education as leaders and policy makers need to continuously monitor the
behavior of resource providers (Barringer, 2016; Gumport, 2002; Slaughter &
Rhoades, 2004; Tierney & Hentschke, 2007; Toma, 2012; Weisbrod, Ballou, &
Asch, 2008). Although much of resource dependency work claims an apolitical or
objective stance, there is a notable set of higher education scholars who have sought
to understand the political, and neoliberal-serving ways that resources flow through-
out higher education. Inspired by the work of Thorstein Veblen (1918/2015), who
noted the power-laden nature of resource dependencies, higher education researchers
Slaughter & Rhoades (2004) and Taylor and Cantwell (2015) have traced how
universities engage industry, government, and increasingly, transnational agencies/
bodies to procure resources (also see Rowlands, 2013).
The final perspective within the environmental school of thought that we discuss
is institutionalism. Some describe institutionalism as a cultural version of resource
dependency (Gonzales, 2013). Either way, institutionalism eschews the strictly
economic, rational bent that characterizes resource dependency to say that not all
organizations operate rationally. Institutionalism is largely derivative of Selznick’s
(1949, 1996) Tennessee Valley Authority study. In this work, Selznick realized that
the TVA’s work hinged, not on economic or material resources, but on its ability to
be seen as a trustworthy entity among local Tenneseans. This simple but powerful
insight forms the basis of much of institutional thinking. In 1977, Meyer and Rowan
extended institutionalism to argue that that because some organizations and organi-
zational fields rely on tacit cultural resources (also see Zucker 1977), change is
difficult to achieve, and habits, practices, as well as forms tend to become homoge-
neous or deeply institutionalized.
The notion that some organizations rely on cultural resources, such as trust and
legitimacy, presented somewhat of a blow to organizational theorists who had long
relied on a rather hard-nosed economic rationalism (Meyer & Rowan, 1977; DiMag-
gio & Powell, 1991; Scott, 1983; Zucker, 1977). Institutionalists working in the
1970s leaned on Selznick’s argument to say that an organization whose work and
outputs are social and cultural in nature cannot (or should not) be measured by
economic, objective ends but must be evaluated on social and cultural grounds. In
terms of identifying cultural resource providers, new institutional scholars recognize:
(1) coercive/legal, (2) mimetic/standardizing, and (3) normative resource providers
and influencers (DiMaggio & Powell, 1991). Institutionalism has come to be very
popular in recent years among higher education organizational researchers as it
allows a researcher to account for the various and diverse types of resource providers
that a cultural organization, like a college, must keep in mind (Gonzales, 2013;
Morphew, 2009).

11
Strength, Weaknesses, Opportunities, and Threats.
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 535

Taken together, environmental perspectives help organizational researchers and

leadership look beyond internal dynamics and understand how their organization is
embedded in and influenced by the larger world. Although the environmental school
of thought represented a radical shift in organizational thinking, it has not fully
tapped into its critical potential outside of the critically inclined academic capitalism
(Slaughter & Rhoades, 2004) and select applications of institutionalism that high-
light how cultural resources are often predefined or determined by the wealthiest or
most powerful of higher education institutions and actors (Gonzales, 2013). Below,
we unleash the potential of environmental thinking by blending it with ideas drawn
from anti-colonial and decolonizing perspectives.

11.3.6 Reimagining the Environmental School of Thought

Here, we reimagine the environmental perspective, as we draw on postcolonial and

decolonial scholarship. In keeping with familiar environmental perspectives, post-
colonial work helps us to hold on to the fact that organizations are not situated in a
vacuum, and that they are embedded in a wider context that matters. However,
decolonial and postcolonial perspectives bring a historical and critical lens to
understanding, or assessing, that context.
Describing the purpose of post-colonial work, Spivak (1988) explained that the
post-colonial project is interested in disturbing “regulative political concepts, the
supposedly authoritative narrative [which] was written elsewhere. . . .reversing,
displacing, and seizing the value coding itself” (p. 228). In other words, Spivak’s
suggests that post-colonial work exposes how colonial logics and values are
expressed in taken-for-granted concepts and conceptions. Meanwhile, Prasad
(2003) described post-colonialism as “an attempt to investigate the complex and
deeply fraught dynamics of modern western colonialism and anticolonial resistance”
while acknowledging “the ongoing significance of the colonial encounter for peo-
ple’s lives both in the West and the non-West” (Prasad, 2003, p. 5). Post-colonialism
and decolonizing thought aligns with an organizational theorist’s environmental
bent, but it questions how an environment came to be and assumes that local,
state, and national boundaries are not naturally occurring. Such questions are deeply
important since many colleges and universities occupy land taken from Indigenous
and Native people and communities (Altbach, 1989; Altbach & Knight, 2007; Lipe,
2014; Tuck & Gaztambide-Fernández, 2013; Wilder, 2013).
Central to post-colonial thought and to our reimagining environmental perspec-
tives is Edward Said’s writing about the process of “othering.” Othering, according
to Said, is a way that European and American colonizers constructed the East and
Middle East and people who live within the Middle East as inherently different, as
less than, as dangerous—as other. Using their access to political, economic, and
cultural channels, colonizers were positioned to ascribe statuses to the places
and people whom they colonized. Said introduced a critical point that has been
more deeply developed in subsequent post, anti, and decolonial work. Specifically,
536 L. D. Gonzales et al.

Said pointed out colonialism exceeds political and economic materialism, and is an
ideological, cultural, and discursive matter. Today, postcolonial scholars specify
various forms of colonialism (Veracini, 2011; Shoemaker, 2015) including colonial-
ism, settler colonialism and neocolonialism. Thus, in reimagining environmental
perspectives for higher education research, we aim to call attention to settler colo-
nialism, which is described here:
Rather than emphasizing imperial expansion driven primarily by militaristic or economic
purposes, which involves the departure of the colonizer, settler colonialism focuses on the
permanent occupation of a territory and removal of indigenous peoples with the express
purpose of building an ethnically distinct national community. (Bonds & Inwood, 2016;
p. 1)

A postcolonial approach to considering organizations demands that researchers

deconstruct the very fundamental Western basis of contemporary organizations
including organizational environments.
Illustrating similar kinds of work and drawing from both anti-colonial and
decolonial literatures, Shahjahan and Kezar (2013) asserted that much of higher
education policy and research is methodologically bound by “national containers,”
meaning higher education research is “colonized by categories (e.g., racial catego-
ries, funding formulas) that are structurally and discipline-wise embedded in the
nation state” (p. 23). The pair continued to elaborate on the shortcomings of such
“nationalist” approaches:
. . . . when [researchers] speak of environmental influences on a U.S. higher education
institution, [they] are often referring to an environment bound to the nation-state such as
federal and state governments and/or national accreditation agencies. . . .[In this way,]
environmental influences tend to refer to national economies rather than global economic
structures (p. 20).

Shahjahan and Kezar went on to argue that a methodological nationalist framework

ignores the ways in which nation-states arise from politically and socially
constructed, rather than naturally occurring boundaries.
We take Shahjahan and Kezar’s argument in conjunction with post-colonial work
that forces a researcher to confront the history of a situation (in this case, higher
education and organizational environments), to examine power and violence in the
context that situation, and to see how the situation has come to be defined. In the case
of higher education, the environmental school of thought overlooks the importance
of history, fails to account for how colonial violence shaped the relationship between
colleges and communities, and how many of the resources that a university relies on
(e.g., land, water, other natural resources) are actually contemporary vestiges of the
colonial relationship. In this way, post-colonial and decolonizing approaches can
help a researcher account for history, for assets that the university derives from the
local terrain, and perhaps most importantly, can assist a researcher in fostering repar-
ative justice.
Application: Reparative Justice, Land, and Native Communities Within the
interior of the United States are hundreds of Native American nations and tribes
(Wang, 2014), and along the nearly 7,500 miles of borderland that the U.S. shares
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 537

with Canada and Mexico are diverse communities including many Native and/or
Indigenous people displaced by European settlers. According to Wilder (2013), a
central feature of European colonialism involved the erection of colleges, often built
by enslaved Black people. These “colonial colleges” had several purposes: (1) to
support the development of what would eventually become the U.S.; (2) to train
white wealthy males for their assumed rightful political and societal positions; and
(3) to engage the Native communities, when it was strategic to do so. Of this,
Reverend William Smith of College of Philadelphia (University of Pennsylvania)
wrote:
In [Indian] schools, some of the most Ingenious and Docile of the young Indians might be
instructed in our Faith and Morals, and Language, and in our Methods of Life and Industry,
and in some of those Arts which are most useful. . .To civilize our Friends and Neighbors;—
to strengthen our Allies and our Alliance;—to adorn and dignify Human Nature;—to save
Souls from Death; to promote Christian Faith, and the Divine Glory, are the motives.
(as cited in Wilder, 2013, p. 94)

Throughout his text which traces U.S. higher education’s intertwinement in the
institution of slavery and colonialism, Wilder reports that “the deployment of
academies to subdue Indians repeats in colonial history” (p. 94) and happened
alongside the removal of Native people from their lands. As settlement expanded
westward, colonization was repeated in slightly different ways as the Native and
Indigenous people of the southwest were dehumanized and displaced.

Today, though, it is common for colleges and universities to want to set aside
these strained histories or move past them quite quickly in order to work with
communities for the purposes of research and socioeconomic development (Annette,
2005; Bender, 2008; Fourie, 2003; Hall, 2009). Consider how federally funded
research projects are structured: A federal agency of the U.S. government sets an
agenda and sends out the call. Universities throughout the U.S. receive the call and
faculty determine if their work fits the call. Part of the analysis that the faculty
may conduct is an environmental scan especially when they need to be able to access
resources from the local environment, including natural resources (e.g., land, water,
farms, geology) or human resources (e.g., working with a certain population).
However, the typical environmental diagnostic does not recognize the importance
of historical relations between the university and the local land and communities. Of
this, Gonzales (2017) noted:
It is not typical for post-secondary organizations to attempt to understand their own
histories. . .a critical interpretation of this [failure to consider history] is leaders’ unwilling-
ness to reflect on relations of power that implicate the institution in racist, sexist, classist, and
sometimes colonial practices and relations. (p. 114)

To Gonzales’ point, research suggests that when universities initiate partnerships,

community partners often describe the university’s approach as top-down and
paternalistic (Ascher & Schwartz, 1989; Anyon & Fernández, 2007; Perkins et al.,
2004; Silka, 2008).
538 L. D. Gonzales et al.

Decolonizing how the environment is understood in the context of higher edu-

cation requires that university members begin by interrogating the history of the land
where the organization sits—to understand how communities especially Native or
Indigenous communities, have been affected by the seizure of their land. Using a
decolonizing/post-colonial stance, a university would reject the ahistorical or nation-
ally driven approach to understanding their environments. In learning or unlearning
particular histories of their university, higher education actors would start by listen-
ing and learning from the stories of Indigenous people (also see Lipe, 2014;
Macaulay, Commanda, Freeman, Gibson, McCabe, Robbins, Twohig, 1999;
Reyes, 2017). In describing such approaches to community-university research
relations, Poff (2006) said:
. . .stories describe stark accounts of betrayal and upset, as well as descriptions of positive
experiences. They provide dramatic reminders to researchers of the importance of respectful
and collaborative relationships with traditional community leaders and their members
(p. 27).

However, understanding history is not enough. Tuck and Yang (2012) explained that
“decolonization brings about the repatriation of Indigenous land and life” (p. 1).
Thus, centering Indigenous and Native histories and voicesis only step one;
returning land and resources to Native peoples is what true decolonizing work and
reparative justice requires. Thus, in addition to “learning about, accounting for, and
honoring local histories and knowledges, assets and gaps from the community” as
Gonzales (2016) suggested, a decolonized approach to understanding environments
would mean that a university commits to sharing or returning resources or having
Native leadership inform how partnerships should work so that, there are clear and
favorable agreements that benefit and return resources to Native communities. In this
way, a university’s understanding of its environment is deeply transformed when
Native and Indigenous communities are recentered as both owners and knowers.
Section Summary
The environmental perspective views organizations as situated in larger networks of
entities and stakeholders. Viewpoints within this school of thought differ in terms of
the degree of agency leaders and other organizational actors are perceived to possess.
However, all of these views agree that complex external economic, social and
cultural conditions impact an organization’s form and goals. Like environmental
or open-systems perspectives, postcolonial, anti and decolonial thought stress that
organizations are embedded in environments, but recognize that modern ways of
organizing are reflective of historical and contemporary colonialism. One variation
of postcolonial thought, settler colonialism draws attention to the seizure of land
from Indigenous people and settler occupation of this land in order to build a new
ethnic community. Anti and decolonial thought illustrate how an understanding of
an organization’s environment is narrowed by the politically and socially
constructed notions that favor nation-state. The environmental perspective
reimagined with postcolonial, anti and decolonial approaches to organizing compels
organizational leadership not only to be more inclusive and equitable in terms of
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 539

Key Descriptors and Assumptions

Environmental Perspective Postcolonial or Decolonial

• Environment analysis (SWOT) • Hegemonic ideologies
• Resources • Decolonization
• Ecosystem • Cultural Imperialism
• Organization life cycle • Historical
• Strategy • Methodological Nationalism
• Interdependencies • Holistic
• Ahistorical • History

Commonalities between Environmental Perspective and Reimagined Environmental Perspective

• Internal work is influenced by external conditions and forces

• Assumption that organizations are part of a wider environment that influences the organization and which
the organization also acts upon

Typical Questions

• What are the connections between a

higher education organization and
• How does the political environment shape
surrounding Native communities?
higher education’s extra-curricular events?
How can the organization return
• How do federal and state financial resources (land and otherwise) to the
incentives influence the growth of community?
competency based certificate and degree
programs in US community colleges? • What are the factors influencing the
rise of global citizenship branding in
higher education?

Fig. 11.3 Conventional and reimagined versions of environmental perspective

partnership work, but to restore equity and justice in terms of resources, including
land (Fig. 11.3).

11.3.7 Organizational Culture School of Thought

The final school of thought that we discuss is organizational culture. At the outset, it
is helpful to note that both critics and proponents of organizational culture acknowl-
edge that culture can feel elusive—too big and too broad to really allow for any
explanatory power, but also too important to ignore (Trowler, 2008). Reflecting both
the breadth and power of organizational culture, Corbally and Sergiovanni (1984)
defined it as “the system of values, symbols, and shared meanings of a group

12
We agree with Manning’s assessment, but we also want to stress that these different approaches
are actually distinct epistemological and ontological groundings.
540 L. D. Gonzales et al.

including the embodiment of these values, symbols, and meaning into material
objects and ritualized practices” (p. viii).
It is notable that theories of organizational culture were developed around the
1970s, around the same time that a number of academic disciplines were struck with
epistemological and ontological crises related to the production and representation of
knowledge. For a field like organizational studies, which has historically been
oriented towards modernity, rationalism, and empiricism (Casey, 2002), the idea
that knowledge might be tacit and always steeped in contingencies and subjectivities
represented a significant shift in thinking. However, thoroughly interpretive takes on
organizational culture made a slow debut in organizational studies.
To this point, Manning (2013) helpfully notes that organizational culture is
underlined by at least two distinct approaches:12 (1) the corporate and (2) the
anthropological. Both approaches suggest that to understand an organization, one
must take seriously language, symbols, norms, values, and even architecture (Man-
ning, 2013; Schein, 2004), but for different purposes. In the corporate world, Ouchi
(1981) seems to have been among the first to reflect on the importance of culture for
businesses. After having observed organizational life and activities in Japan and the
U.S., Ouchi (1981) noted that organizations in these two countries had different
“styles.” While U.S. companies operated in accordance with scientific management
norms (e.g., formal, hierarchical, output oriented), Japanese companies utilized
flatter forms of organizations, employed consensual decision-making, and utilized
both objective and subjective measures to assess their employees.
This being said, the corporate approach tends to be realist and also evaluative in
nature, meaning researchers deem some cultures better or smarter than others (see
Manning, 2013; Tierney, 1987). To this point, rather than assume that culture is
contingent on local context and meaning-making among organizational members,
practitioners and leaders assume that they can replicate organizational cultures that
seem to work well (e.g., Lundin, Paul, Christensen, & Blanchard, 2000). Working
from such realist and evaluative conceptions of culture, organizational researchers
produce cultural diagnostics and typologies intended to help leaders steer their
organization towards a productive culture (Blau, & Scott, 1962; Cameron &
Quinn, 2011; Doty, & Glick, 1994; Topping, 1996).
Another strand of work that that stems from the corporate approach to organiza-
tional culture is Albert and Whetten’s (1985) organizational identity. Albert and
Whetten argued “organizational identity tells people “who we are” and “what we
do.” More specifically, Whetten (2006) “specified [organizational identity] as the
central and enduring attributes of an organization that distinguish it from other
organizations” (Whetten, 2006, p. 220). Whetten went on to note that an organiza-
tional identity rests on the specific claims that an organization uses to define itself,
which is different than the numerous individual identity claims that people within the
organization might make.
Noting the importance of organizational identity in a post-industrial economy and
environment, Albert, Ashforth, and Dutton (2000) wrote:
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 541

As conventional organizational forms are dismantled, so too are many of the institutional-
ized repositories of organizational history and method, and the institutionalized means by
which organizations perpetuate themselves. Increasingly, an organization must reside in the
heads and hearts of its members. . . A clear sense of identity servers as a rudder for
navigating difficult waters (p. 13).

Applications of organizational identity, or similar ideas, are common in higher

education research. For example, after closely studying three liberal arts colleges,
Clark (1972) suggested that they fostered “organizational sagas” which reflected “a
collective understanding of unique accomplishment” for each institution (p. 178).
Clark specified that the sagas were communicated “through mottoes, traditions,
ethos. . . long-standing practices. . .unique roles played by an institution” (p. 235).
Clark added that sagas became “images held in the minds (and hearts) of students,
faculty, and alumni” (p. 235). Clark’s approach to saga (or identity) represents a
realist, or what Manning might call a “corporate” perspective, but other higher
education scholars have leveraged a more interpretive approach. For example,
Garcia (2016) deployed a social constructivist perspective to show how faculty
and staff members constructed an organizational identity independent of the
university’s formal positions and policies. Garcia’s work showed that although
organizational identity is typically understood as a top down approach, organiza-
tional actors can create, disrupt, or revise organizational identity as well.
In some ways, Schein’s (1993) well-known work represents a middle ground
between realist corporatism and interpretive anthropological approaches. Schein
suggested that organization’s culture is operationalized through elements like visible
artifacts, espoused beliefs and values, and taken-for-granted assumptions. For
Schein, these elements come together through a variety of means, including state-
ments from leadership as well as meaning making and daily interactions among
organizational members. Visible artifacts are observable characteristics, such as the
workplace layout, how people are greeted, or how people interact at meetings.
Espoused beliefs and values are stated in an organization’s mission statement or
similar prominent statements. Taken-for-granted assumptions are pieces of knowl-
edge that organizations expect their employees to know, or “pick up” through
participation in the organization. Shein’s work has frequently informed higher edu-
cation research. For example, after accounting for several of the elements in Schein’s
work, Bergquist (1992) outlined four organizational archetypes common to higher
education: the collegial culture; the managerial culture; developmental culture; and
negotiating culture. Bergquist explained that faculty, administrators, and staff built
these various distinctive cultures through their interactions and implicit expectations
and that each rendered implications for colleges and university outcomes.
Organizational culture represented a significant turn in organizational theory.
Rather than suggest that organizations are rational entities, organizational culture
theorists pointed to tacit, interpretive elements within organizations: values, human’s
valuing of said values, and symbolic practices that hold deep power. For the most
part, organizational culture is often positioned as a way to bond members to the
542 L. D. Gonzales et al.

organization, or to communicate an identity or deep sense of purpose to a broad

audience. It is often used as a way to explain why an organization behaves in certain
ways. Indeed, organizational culture theorists, in our view, attempt to describe the
culture of an organization as if it is bound up within the entity, itself, rather than
connected to larger ideological conditions. However, next, we consider how insights
and commitments from the critical paradigm might help leaders and researchers read
organizational culture as a powerful, potentially oppressive force—and one that is
connected to macro societal and ideological conditions.

11.3.8 Reimagining Organizational Culture

As we reimagine the organizational culture school of thought, it is first imperative to

note that white Western academics (mostly anthropologists) developed theories of
culture after studying populations (usually of Color) abroad. These Western aca-
demic exploits objectified ethnic groups and rendered ethnocentric simplifications of
many people’s ways of life. While it is true that cultural studies (and social science
disciplines, in general) have been willing to confront this problematic past, its
colonial legacy should always be noted.
Reimagining organizational culture means recognizing that cultural theories
originally stemmed from relations of power, ethnocentrism, and judgment, organi-
zational culture is not innocent. In many ways it represents a mirror of power—often
captured in text, symbols, architecture—and illustrates how history shows up in
organizational life. Thus, we suggest that organizational culture perspectives can be
improved if researchers and leaders consider the ways in which organizational
culture manifests larger ideological bents within society. To accomplish the
reimagining of organizational culture, we lean on two bodies of work that may
seem somewhat surprising. First, we lean heavily on Marxian thought. Second, we
connect Marxian impulses to post-structuralism.
As we noted earlier, Marx’s work was concerned with the political economy, the
labor market, and worker’s rights. For these reasons, Marx is often described as a
structuralist. However, Marx was also interested in the power of ideas, as he wrote,
“the ideas of the ruling class are in every epoch the ruling ideas” (as cited in Tucker,
1978, p. 100). In much of his work, Marx argued that to understand the state of the
human condition—how people experienced, normalized, and made sense of life—

13
Some people may be surprised by our joining together of Marx and post-structuralism. However,
Marxian thought heavily influenced post-structuralist thinkers, like Foucault (Choat, 2010). For
more on this point, see Peters and Berbules (2004) who argue that “poststructuralist reading
practices allow us to contemplate a fluid rereading of Marx” (p. 84) as accomplished by Deleuze,
Derrida, and Foucault (see pp. 81–100). Indeed, Foucault (1984) wrote that Marx “established an
endless possibility of discourse (as cited in Peters & Berbules, p. 85). . .For Foucault, Marx, like
Freud, was a founder of “discursivity” rather than a founder of a science—though admittedly, this
was not the way in which Marx saw himself” (p. 84).”
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 543

one had to understand the ideas that the “ruling class” circulated through its major
institutions (see Bowles & Gintis, 1976; Brint & Karabel, 1989; Kanter, 1993;
Morley, 2001 for contemporary applications). In this way, classic arguments from
Marx’s work help us reappropriate organizational cultural theory’s focus on ideas,
symbolism, values, and traditions, as representations of the powerful and elite in
society.
We join Marx’s commentary on superstructure to post-structuralism (Foucault,
1982; Peter & Berbules, 2004).13 Poststructuralism can be understood as a perspec-
tive that elevates the role of language (text and talk) in relation to how people
experience society. Peters & Berbules stated that “poststructuralism highlights the
centrality of language to human activity and culture—its materiality, its
linguisticality, and its pervasive ideological nature” (p. 5). Said another way, post-
structuralism suggests that rather than power being located or centralized in struc-
tural arrangements, it moves through discursive practices, such as the naming and
ordering of things and behaviors (e.g., normal, deviant, excellent, ugly, knowledge,
superstition). Thus, post-structuralism is comfortable with ambiguity, in that it points
out and disrupts the narratives that are used to subtly and not-so-subtly organize our
lives (Allan, 2010; Smith, 1987).
Thus, while Marxian ideas can be used to consider how organizational culture is a
reflection of the ruling ideas within society, poststructuralism calls specific attention
to the power within texts, talk, and symbols. Foucault’s work concerning the
construction of “deviance” and Butler’s (1988) work on the construction of “gender”
are ways that poststructuralism can reveal the ideological and material consequences
attached to language, or how the world is ordered through language (Choat, 2010;
Foucault, 1982; Martínez Alemán, 2015; Smith, 1987). Taken together, these theo-
ries allow us to reappropriate organizational culture’s focus on norms, values, and
symbolism to show how they are connected to power and society, writ large.
Application: Epistemic Justice—Legitimacy in Academia Every year colleges
and universities hold orientations sessions that are intended to help new organiza-
tional members learn about their work place. Extensive time is spent organizing
these events and developing messaging that communicates the organization’s mis-
sion and aspirations. In hiring new tenure-track faculty, extensive time is allocated to
describing the tenure and promotion system during orientations (Gonzales, 2014).
Moreover, new faculty are often assigned formal or informal mentors, whose utmost
purpose is to orient and socialize professors to the implicit and explicit expectations
for tenure (Ponjuan, Conley, Trower, 2011; Zambrana, Ray, Espino, Castro, Cohen,
& Eliason, 2015).
Overtime, as certain faculty are promoted, rewarded internal seed grants; as some
faculty are denied tenure, or told they must work harder to present a clearer case, new
faculty candidates continue to learn about the values that its university holds. All of
these elements—the mentoring efforts, the naming of grant winners, the granting of
tenure—constitute a university’s organizational culture, or perhaps more specifically
a university’s academic culture. When taken in from an organizational culture
perspective, such texts and symbolic processes are presented as normative, or what
544 L. D. Gonzales et al.

it takes to “fit” within the context of a university (Gonzales & Satterfield, 2013;
Gonzales & Terosky, 2016; O’Meara, 2007). More specifically, a university’s
organizational culture signals who and what constitutes a legitimate and valuable
scholar—someone who is worthy of lifelong employment and collegial validation.
However, research shows fit often comes easier for some than others. Specifi-
cally, women, and People of Color, overall, have long been underrepresented among
the tenured ranks (Arnold et al., 2016; Finkelstein, Conley, & Schuster, 2016;
Griffin, Pifer, Humphrey, & Hazelwood, 2011; Kelly & McKann, 2014). To this
point, Griffin et al., documented that Black faculty experienced both personal and
structural racism, and located the structural racism in the tenure and promotion
process. Several of the interviewees in the study discussed how their work had
been questioned, largely because of its race-relatedness (also see Delgado Bernal &
Villapando, 2002). Gonzales and Terosky found that legitimization within academia
often hinges on preferences for pure disciplinary work (rather than interdisciplinary),
a scholar’s seeming detachment from their scholarship (objectivity), as well as other
Western norms related to knowledge production (also see Gonzales, 2017).
Whereas organizational culture theory might be used to assess how a university’s
members construct such norms, a Marxian informed poststructural approach pulls
these cultural artifacts apart to ask, “from where and from whom do these cultural
values stem?” In this way, informed by a Marxian inspired poststructuralism one can
connect how a university’s organizational culture (particularly its faculty hiring,
social and evaluation process) are manifestations of neoliberalism and the domi-
nance of science, or a scientific epistemology, in American society. Describing the
effects of such organizational culture practices, Monzó and Soohoo noted, “this is
not always a matter of benign ignorance. . .there are people who have a vested
interest in not having particular epistemologies legitimized because this would
threaten the system of privilege and power from which they benefit (p. 150).”
When organizational culture is understood as possibly reflecting the ruling relations
of society, it shifts from a perspective that is internally focused on understanding
(and promoting) organizational fit and norming to a lens that shows how organiza-
tions reproduce systems of inequity and marginalization. Only in understanding how
organizational culture as a force of power can higher education practitioners and
researchers show how it represses epistemic justice, which is
a state where individuals, from all backgrounds, but especially marginalized backgrounds,
have the opportunity to leave impressions on old and new knowledge, and especially to
articulate knowledges that have long been silenced” (Gonzales, 2015b, p. 28).

Section Summary
The organizational culture perspective is concerned with norms, values and their
manifestation in artifacts and rituals as ways to socialize and guide humans. Orga-
nizational culture has been operationalized in numerous ways: as sagas or identities,
as typologies that yield particular tendencies, or as strong but fluid patterns that help
members make sense and bond with their workplace. Central to these lines of
thinking is the assumption that these intangible elements have very tangible effects
on an organization and its members. Like organizational culture, post-structural
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 545

Key Descriptors and Assumptions

Organizational Culture Reimagined Organizational Culture

• Typologies • Power
• Norms/Values • Discourse
• Collective understanding • Fluidity
• Logics • Instability
• Ideology • Disrupt
• Socially constructed reality • Deconstruct
• Traditions

Commonalities between Organizational Culture and Reimagined Organizational Culture

• Immaterial conditions (norms, symbols, rituals)

• Power
• The power of rules

Typical Questions

• How does an organization utilize

• How can an organization leverage its cultural discourses and symbols in ways that
practices and identity to encourage people to make it difficult to question the
feel membership? organization’s way of life?
• What is the relationship between cultural • How does cultural notions like fit
factors in collegiate sporting culture and manifest in the hiring, tenure, and
student athlete misconduct? promotion guidelines for faculty?

Fig. 11.4 Conventional and reimagined versions of organizational culture

thought draws attention to the importance of values and norms but acknowledges the
role of power and oppression in determining which values and norms become
embedded in organizations. Marx’s notion of the superstructure illustrates how the
ruling class’ ideas dominate the everyday life of people of all levels within society.
Post-structuralism further draws attention to the role of language in circulating
hegemonic discourses in everyday life. The cultural perspective reimagined with
notions of power and conflict exposes how socializing mechanisms within organi-
zations are not neutral or innocuous but are methods to dictate who and what is
valued (Fig. 11.4).

11.4 Chapter Summary and Future Research

This chapter had two central aims. First, we wanted to highlight the merits of
organization theory in the study of higher education. Second, we strived to reimagine
frequently used organizational theories by infusing them with ideas and
546 L. D. Gonzales et al.

commitments drawn from the critical paradigm. Below, we briefly summarize our
chapter, note the limitations of our work, and invite others to build on and improve
the arguments we have started here.
We started the chapter by offering an overview of organizational theory which we
organized into four school of thoughts. We labeled these school of thoughts scien-
tific management, organizational behavior, environmental, and organizational cul-
ture. We realize that our approach to organizing the very vast body of organizational
theory is imperfect and that other scholars have organized organizational theory in
different ways. We also realize that our approach to organizing organizational theory
may feel somewhat linear, as if one school of thought neatly unfolded in response to
the other, and relatedly, we acknowledge that our work is largely drawn from the
ecology and evolution of Western organizational theory and thinking. All of these
features, we admit, are limitations. We hope that future scholars can build on what
we have started here to improve these limitations.
Following our brief overview of organizational theory, we discussed the critical
paradigm. Like organizational theory, the critical paradigm is a large body of work
which forced us to produce a condensed discussion. As a reminder, we chose to
position the critical paradigm as a higher or more abstract level of theorizing, and
then discussed more specific theories below it. As we introduced the critical para-
digm, we reviewed key principles, which guided our thinking throughout the
chapter, such as the notion that society and organizations are sites of conflict, the
commitment to expose dehumanizing features of organizations, and the willingness
to question seemingly mundane and functional practices.
In the third section, we detailed each of our organizational schools of thought and
infused them with insights, commitments, and views drawn from the critical para-
digm. We drew from several bodies of work and theories, including critical man-
agement, intersectionality, applied critical leadership, decolonial thought, collective
leadership, critical feminism, and post-structuralism. Indeed, this leads us to another
potential limitation of this work. In choosing to go broad, we likely missed important
organizational theory pieces.
Still, as we conclude the chapter, we hope readers have a general sense of
organizational theory’s major school of thoughts and the critical paradigm. This
chapter only takes a first step towards the reimagining of familiar organizational
theories. We only hope that scholars continue to clarify and more fully
operationalize our ideas, extend them or challenge them, and flesh them out through
critical justice oriented research in the future.

11.4.1 Future Research

We reimagined scientific management studies with ideas located in critical manage-

ment studies and collective leadership. In doing so, we sketched out possibilities for
upholding the importance of leadership and defining roles, labor, and outcomes, but
doing so from a collective and critical stance. To illustrate how a reimagined version
11 Reimagining Organizational Theory for the Critical Study of Higher Education 547

of scientific management might work for framing a problem, we considered the issue
of labor justice. There are several ways that a researcher could go deeper with this
suggestion. For example, in having people involved in defining their work as well as
sensible measures for their work performance, one might be interested in examining
if such practices yield improvements in work outcomes across various groups.
Researchers could also conduct critical analyses of labor-related policies such as
job contracts, evaluation guidelines, and language around worker expectations in
order to trace to what extent jobs have been designed in consistent and fair ways.
There is also an opportunity to take these ideas further to see if employees can assist
in defining and clarifying the kinds of labor that often goes unseen (e.g., emotional
labor). Finally, working from a critically informed version of scientific management,
researchers might take a broader view of labor justice and pay attention to groups
that go understudied by higher education scholars (e.g., graduate assistants, post-
doctoral students, custodians, middle management) (see Cantwell & Lee, 2010;
Cantwell & Taylor, 2015; Levecque, Anseel, DeBeuckelaer, Van der Heyden, &
Gisle, 2017 for exceptions).
With regard to organizational behavior, we integrated ideas from applied critical
leadership and intersectionality. Like organizational behavior, applied critical lead-
ership elevates the transformative potential that leaders hold while intersectionality
pushes on the simplistic human relations approach to recognize how human relations
and organizational structures marginalize people in distinct ways. Grounding this
argument, we took up the issue of intersectional justice and used the example of
diversity work. Researchers have extensive room to build on and flesh out this
reimagined take on organizational behavior. For example, since organizational
behavior is very interested in tracing the effects of individual—organizational fit,
intersectionality provides a way to examine how an organization structures expec-
tations and experiences at a number of levels (e.g., at the most personal level, at the
university level, and then at the larger institutional level, where universities display,
reflect, or challenge societal rules and norms). Those interested in the impact of
applied critical leadership might examine to what extent leader reflexivity and
commitment to learning make a difference in diversity work outcomes.
To reimagine the environmental school of thought, we turned to anti and
decolonial perspectives which expose higher education’s involvement in colonial-
ism and challenges leaders and researchers to think about the environment in
radically different ways. We showed how a decolonizing perspective forced one to
examine, expose, and then repair the violence caused by a university’s involvement
in colonialism. Researchers could study if and how partnerships and related strategic
plans reflect colonial tactics (e.g., paternalistic, hierarchical university direction).
Drawing moreso from Indigenous scholarship, researchers could question to what
extent Native community partners are elevated as leaders and knowers inside such
efforts (see Collins & Mueller, 2016).
To reimagine organizational culture theories, we set aside its tendency to present
organizational culture as a normative glue that can hold people together and give
them tools for sensemaking, and instead, we chose to see organizational culture
through a conflict and power lens provided by a Marxian informed post-
548 L. D. Gonzales et al.

structuralism. Although much organizational culture work privileges the idea that
organizational culture is a way to bond members to the organization, we showed
how culture can work to discipline, damage, and potentially silence knowers within
academe. Future scholars might further advance this work by blending poststructural
impulses with theories that highlight agency in order to display how culture can be
subverted, countered and remade in ways that allow scholars to manage not only
their careers, but their sense of epistemic belonging.
This chapter aimed to review and reimagine organizational theory for the critical
study of higher education. We look forward to seeing others move organizational
research towards such a justice-centered purpose.

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Author Index

A Ancheta, A., 450, 453, 454

Aarrevaara, T., 264 Anderson, G.M., 199
Acker, J., 510 Androushchak, G., 258
Adamian, A.S., 15–17, 19, 41, 42 Angrist, J.D., 329
Adams, D., 431 Annette, J., 537
Adams, P., 482 Anseel, F., 547
Addo, F.R., 358, 359 Anthias, F., 528, 530
Agasisti, T., 374, 388, 390 Antonio, A., 27, 28, 35
Aguirre, A., 418, 423 Antonio, A.L., 14, 27, 28, 30, 35, 36, 45, 47, 53,
Ahmed, S., 12, 13, 41, 44, 45, 47, 62, 509, 510, 66, 426
529, 530 Antonowicz, D., 506, 521
Ai, C., 314 Anyon, Y., 537
Akker, J., 265 Anzaldúa, G., 515
Albert, S., 540 Appelrouth, S., 519
Albertine, S., 449 Apple, M., 434–436, 438–440
Alfonso, M., 188, 196, 197, 199, 213 Applebee, A.N., 475
Allan, E.J., 430, 514 Archer, K.J., 309
Allan, K., 543 Arcidiacono, P., 347
Allen, B.J., 44 Arellano, L., 37
Allen, D., 491 Arendale, D.R., 179
Allen, W., 37, 38 Aries, E., 54
Allen, W.A., 35 Arimoto, A., 240, 243, 245, 267, 277
Allen, W.R., 14, 52 Ariovich, L., 483
Allison, P.D., 298 Armstrong, S., 475
Allport, G.W., 54, 55 Armstrong, S.L., 475
Altbach, P.G., 240, 243, 245, 248, 252, 253, Arnold, N.W., 510, 544
255, 257, 258, 261, 262, 264, 265, 267– Arnove, R.F., 254
272, 276–278, 281, 535 Arnsparger, A., 221
Altback, P.G., 257, 258 Asch, E.D., 534
Alvarado, E., 219 Ascher, C., 537
Alvarez, C.L., 37 Asgari, S., 53
Alvesson, M., 520 Ashby, E., 252
Ambrose, S.A., 475, 486 Ashforth, B.E., 540
Anahita, S., 140 Astin, A.W., 35, 181, 186, 360, 449, 450

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 561

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4
562 Author Index

Astone, B., 435, 436 Bell, A.D., 299

Aten, B., 269 Bell, D., 14, 19, 27, 40–42, 50, 67
Atkins, D.C., 348, 349 Ben-David, J., 244, 245, 248, 252
Attewell, P., 197–199, 470, 473 Bender, G., 537
Audretsch, D.B., 224 Bennett, M., 443
Austin, J.T., 360 Bensimon, E.M., 13, 39, 48, 52, 62
Avery, C., 56 Bentley, P.J., 278
Ayers, D., 509 Berbules, N.C., 542, 543
Azman, N., 267 Berdahl, R., 437
Berg, M., 283
Berger, J.B., 14, 35, 527
B Bergquist, W.H., 541
Baez, B., 13, 18, 56, 65, 510 Berkner, L., 185
Bahr, P.R., 337, 470 Berlin, I., 263
Bailey, B., 133, 163, 164, 166–168 Bernal, D.D., 544
Bailey, L.E., 167 Bernardo, A., 441, 442
Bailey, T., 193, 194, 199, 470–472, 474, 484, Bernstein, M., 132
493, 494, 496 Berrey, E., 12–15, 17, 29, 45, 47
Baker, E., 482 Berrey, E.C., 529, 530
Baker, G.A., 475 Bess, J.L., 512
Baker, P.J., 83 Bettinger, E., 523
Baker, R., 49 Bettinger, E.P., 471, 473
Balan, J., 240 Beutke, A.A., 148, 149
Ballou, J.P., 534 Bianco, A., 374, 388, 390
Banerji, S., 431, 436, 438, 449 Bickerstaff, S., 469–496
Banks, J.A., 39 Bielby, R., 297, 299, 338, 360
Bannan, N.L.O., 13, 42 Biglan, A., 84, 106, 114
Bansel, P., 522 Bilgrami, A., 244, 274
Barley, S.R., 513 Bilyalov, D., 45
Barnard, C., 525, 526 Biskupic, J., 17
Barnett, E.A., 477, 479, 482, 493 Blackmore, J., 439, 440, 442
Barr, M.J., 418 Blake, M., 487
Barragan, M., 477, 480, 482 Blanchard, K., 540
Barringer, S.N., 534 Blankenship, C., 83
Barrow, L., 222 Blau, P.M., 272, 540
Bartelse, J., 521 Bleiklie, I., 521
Bartkiewicz, M.J., 529 Bliss, L.B., 475
Bass, B.M., 525 Bloom, A., 35
Bastedo, M.N., 297, 333, 346, 355, 506, 508 Blount, J.M., 130, 131, 135, 136, 140, 166
Bauer-Maglin, N., 495 Blum, L., 39
Baum, C.F., 356 Blume, G.H., 347
Baum, S., 207 Boatman, A., 471, 472, 477
Baumol, W., 381, 382, 386, 387, 390, 391, 402, Bobo, L., 63
404, 408 Bobo, L.D., 64
Baxter-Magolda, M., 454 Boesen, M.J., 529
Becker, G.S., 186 Boggs, S., 486
Beckham, E., 448, 453 Bok, D., 30
Becks, A.H., 56 Bol, L., 487
Beemyn, B., 132 Bonds, A., 536
Begalla, R., 443, 444 Bonham, B.S., 475
Belasco, A.S., 297, 337, 355 Bonilla-Silva, E., 13, 16, 19, 20, 42, 50, 63
Belfield, C., 469, 482 Bork, R.H., 474, 486
Belfield, C.R., 194, 208 Borkoski, C., 193, 199
Author Index 563

Borman, G.D., 219 Burdin, G., 520

Bos, J.M., 472 Burgess, D., 140
Boswell, J., 128, 136 Burgette, L.F., 204
Bound, J., 179, 180 Burke, B., 487
Bourdieu, P., 204, 210, 506, 510 Burrell, G., 509, 514, 515
Bowen, G.L., 219 Butler, J., 543
Bowen, H., 371, 376 Butrymowicz, S., 496
Bowen, H.R., 521 Byndloss, D.C., 477
Bowen, N.K., 219 Byun, S., 56
Bowen, W.G., 30, 480
Bowles, S., 543
Bowman, N., 420, 422, 425, 443, 447, 453, C
454, 456–459 Cabrera, A.F., 37, 53, 296, 360
Bowman, N.A., 35, 37, 53, 66 Cabrera, N., 505, 510
Boyer, E.L., 81–84, 87, 281 Cabrera, N.L., 13, 45–47, 52, 62–64
Boylan, H., 475, 476 Cain, T.R., 259, 261
Boylan, H.R., 471, 475 Calcagno, J.C., 471
Bracco, K.R., 473 Calderon, D., 12
Bragg, D., 482 Calhoun, C., 276
Bragg, D.D., 482 Caliendo, M., 232
Brah, A., 433, 452 Callen, J.L., 533
Brand, J.E., 175, 180, 181, 190, 196, 197 Camangian, P.R., 19
Brasfield, D.W., 330 Cameron, A.C., 349
Braskamp, L.A., 425, 431, 441 Cameron, K.S., 540
Braukman, S., 132, 135, 150, 166 Campbell, K., 487
Braun, B., 219 Cantrell, S.C., 475
Brawer, F.B., 179 Cantwell, B., 534, 547
Braxton, J.M., 81–123 Capano, G., 248
Brayboy, B.M.J., 13, 510, 515 Carducci, R., 507, 508, 515, 526
Brehony, K.J., 519 Carnevale, A.P., 355, 356, 436, 437
Brennan, J., 248, 506 Carr, P.B., 52
Brewer, D., 390 Carroll, G., 38
Brice, W.N., 509 Carroll, G.R., 533
Bridges, B., 420 Carson, A.D., 506, 515
Bridges, M.W., 475 Carson, J., 520
Bridges, S., 475 Carter, D.F., 37, 53, 65
Briggs, C., 347 Carter, D.R., 520
Briggs, D.C., 56 Case, M.H., 346
Brinkman, P., 371, 375, 376, 391 Casey, C., 540
Brint, S., 181, 543 Cassanello, R., 150
Briscoe, K., 299 Castagno, A.E., 515
Brittain, J.W., 533 Castellanos, J., 427, 428
Brock, T., 222 Castro, C., 543
Brooke, C., 135 Cavalli, A., 243, 278
Brown, A., 261 Caverly, D.C., 486
Brown, C., 475 Ceja, M., 38, 299
Brown-Nagin, T., 33 Celis, W., 180
Bryk, A.S., 486, 488 Cha, K.W., 359
Buchanan, H.E., 82 Chambers-Schiller, L., 129
Buckley, J., 66, 420 Chandler, A.D., 270
Bullough, B., 140 Chang, A., 516, 531
Bullough, V., 140 Chang, M., 16, 421, 422, 424–426, 430, 441,
Burciaga, R., 516 442, 448–454, 456, 458, 459
564 Author Index

Chang, M.J., 36 Cook, K.S., 274

Chang, S., 53 Cooke, T.J., 214
Chauncey, Jr. G., 136 Coomes, P., 199
Cheit, E.F., 257 Cooper, S., 387, 389
Chen, A.S., 16 Corbally, J.E., 539
Chen, R., 208, 506 Cormier, M.S., 477, 482, 487, 491, 492
Chen, X., 325, 469 Cornwell, G., 420, 425, 448, 456–459
Cheng, S., 330 Correll, P., 475
Chesler, M., 38 Corrigan, K., 508, 526
Chickering, A., 425, 431, 433, 435, 441–447, Cox, R.D., 475, 476, 492
453 Cragg, J.G., 359
Chin, J., 83 Cramer, J.S., 360
Chingos, M.M., 480 Crawford, E.R., 510
Cho, S., 470, 480, 483, 485 Credé, M., 480
Choat, S., 542, 543 Creech, K., 475
Choy, S., 185 Crenshaw, K., 516, 527, 528
Christensen, J., 540 Crenshaw, K.W., 18, 51, 54, 61
Chun, E., 417, 424, 425, 433, 434, 436, 441, Crequer, N., 268
448–456, 458–460 Cribari-Neto, F., 355, 356
Chung, A.S., 297 Crichton, J., 442, 445–447
Clark, B.R., 177, 179, 181, 230, 240, 246–249, Crisp, G., 198, 297, 299, 309
255, 256, 541 Croom, N.N., 19
Clarke, C.G., 66 Crosby, J.R., 52
Clawson, D., 435, 436 Cross, M., 529
Clawson, J., 160, 161, 167 Crosson, P.H., 427
Clayton-Pederson, A.R., 14 Crosta, P.M., 469
Cline, B., 508 Crouchley, R., 376
Clinedinst, M., 299 Cuellar, M., 37
Clotfelter, C.T., 240 Cullinan, D., 477
Clouse, P., 475 Culver, K.C., 84
Clyburn, G., 488 Cummings, W.K., 240, 243, 245, 254, 267
Coburn, C., 477 Cunningham, A.F., 207
Coca, V., 297 Curnow, J., 506
Cogburn, C.D., 48 Curris, C., 425, 427, 444
Cohen, A.M., 177, 179 Curwen, T., 506
Cohen, B.D., 543 Cyert, R.M., 526
Cohen, G.L., 52
Cohn, E., 387–389, 391–393
Cole, J.R., 244, 274, 278 D
Cole, S., 278 Dadgar, M., 195, 199, 471, 472
Coleman, M.S., 30 Daems, H., 270
Coley, R.L., 219 Dallman, M.E., 458
Collins, B.J., 533 Daly, C.J., 526
Collins, C.S., 547 D’Amico, M., 66
Collins, P.H., 507, 510, 516 Danielson, C., 395
Commanda, L.E., 538 Danley, L., 19
Confer, C., 427 Danley, L.L., 52
Conley, D.T., 474 Das, D., 426
Conley, V.M., 506, 543, 544 Dasgupta, N., 53
Considine, M., 248 Daun-Barnett, N., 426
Contractor, N.S., 520 Davies, B., 387–390, 393, 522
Cook, B., 181 Davies, P.G., 52
Cook, B.W., 136, 138 Davies, S., 255
Author Index 565

Dávila, B.A., 509 Douglas, D., 489

Davis, G.F., 519, 533 Dowd, A., 180, 181, 186, 197, 198, 213, 220
Davis, H., 476 Dowd, A.C., 13, 39, 44, 48
Davis, M.D., 136 Dowell, D., 220
Davis, R.J., 37 Dowling, L.C., 135, 166
Davis III, C.H.F., 66 Dowling, N.M., 219
Daye, C.E., 35 Downs, J., 134
De Beuckelaer, A., 547 Doyle, W., 185, 189, 196, 197, 208, 213, 330
de Boer, H., 248 Doyle Corner, P., 508
de Groot, H., 386, 388–391, 394 Driscoll, A., 220
de Novais, J., 13 Driver, J., 42
de S. Honey, J.R., 140 D’Souza, D., 35
de Weert, E., 248, 257, 274, 281, 521 Duberman, M.B., 136
Dean, A., 520 Dunbar-Ortiz, R., 505
Dean, D., 421 Dundar, H., 387–390, 393, 394
Deane, K.C., 506 Dungy, G.J., 418, 425–428
DeChurch, L.A., 520 DuPont, S., 474
Deckman, S., 46 Duran, J., 453
Dee, J.R., 512, 515, 526 Dutton, J.E., 540
Deem, R., 519, 529 Dweck, C., 488
Deil-Amen, R., 66, 223 Dwinell, P., 475
Del Real Viramontes, J., 55 Dynarski, S., 207, 221
Delgado, R., 18, 429, 516 Dynarski, S.M., 321
Delgado Bernal, D., 516
DeLuca, S., 219
D’Emilio, J., 133, 134, 136, 155–158, 166, 167 E
Deming, D.J., 208 Eagan, K., 346, 387
DeNavas-Walt, C., 218 Eagan, M.K., 337
Denney, M., 526 Eaklor, V.L., 128
Denson, N., 35, 36, 53, 422, 425, 441, 444, Eckel, P.D., 526
446–448, 451–455 Edgecombe, N., 477, 478, 480, 482, 483, 486,
DesJardins, S.L., 211, 295–361, 506 490–493
Deslandes, P.R., 164, 165 Edles, L.D., 519
Deutsch, S.E., 257 Edwards, B., 510
Dey, E., 11, 16 Edwards, R., 270
Dey, E.L., 37, 360 Ehara, T., 277
Dey, P., 460 Ehrenreich, B., 529
Diamond, J., 489 Eisenmann, L., 139
Diamond, J.B., 61 Ekono, M., 218
DiAngelo, R., 64 Eliason, J., 543
Dietrich, C., 180, 197, 198, 208, 220 Eliason, S.R., 306
Dill, B.T., 528 Elliott, E., 376, 387
Dill, D., 433, 436, 438 Ellis, H., 142
Dilley, P., 132, 144, 145, 154, 155, 166, 167 Ellsworth, E., 19
DiMaggio, P.J., 534 Ender, P., 325
DiPietro, M., 475 Enders, J., 248, 250, 255, 257, 267, 269,
Ditlmann, R., 52 272–274, 277, 278, 281
DiTomaso, N., 61 Engberg, M.E., 27, 35, 36, 297, 299
Dobbins, M., 248 Enke, K., 447
Domina, T., 470 Espeland, W.N., 269, 278
Dotson, K., 510, 516 Espenshade, T.J., 59
Doty, D.H., 540 Espino, M.M., 543
Dougherty, K.J., 175, 181, 187, 197, 199, 213 Espinosa, L.L., 57
566 Author Index

Espinoza, P., 35 Frank, J., 510

Estes, S., 165, 166 Franklin, J.D., 45
Ethington, C.A., 191, 199, 201 Freedman, E., 136
Evans, A., 417, 425, 433, 448 Freeman, J., 533
Evans, N.J., 456 Freeman, K., 299
Freeman, M.A., 418
Freeman, W.L., 538
F Freese, J., 302, 308–314, 317, 332, 333, 336,
Faderman, L., 136, 140–142, 166 337, 340, 343, 345
Fain, P., 221, 483, 484 Freire, P., 17, 19, 20, 42, 514, 515, 528
Farnham, C.A., 141, 166 Friedman, R., 133, 164, 166
Fashings, J., 257 Friedman, T., 435–438
Fay, M., 483, 484 Fry, R.A., 436
Fay, M.P., 473 Fu, T., 374, 376
Fayol, H., 513, 518 Fugate, M., 508, 513, 524
Feagin, J., 63 Furquim, F., 295–361
Feinberg, W., 132
Felder, J.E., 480
Feldman, K.A., 82, 83 G
Feller, I., 257 Gabriner, R., 475
Fernández, M.A., 537 Gaertner, M.N., 57
Ferrari, S., 356, 357 Gallop, R.J., 348, 349
Ferrari, S.L., 357 Gandara, P., 220
Fields, A.K., 224, 225 Gándara, P., 49
Fields, R., 470, 473 Gannon, S., 522
Finch, E., 140 Garces, L.M., 11–67
Fink, J., 495 Garcia, G.A., 541
Finkelstein, M.J., 250, 251, 257–258, 271, 281, Gardner, S.K., 508
506, 509, 522, 523, 544 Garrison, R.H., 179
Finkelstein, M.J., 521 Gates, S., 390
Finney, J.E., 480 Gathorne-Hardy, J., 140
Fischer, M.J., 37 Gaztambide-Fernández, R.A., 510, 535
Fish, S., 244, 261, 434, 440 Gee, J.P., 418, 424, 429, 430
Fisher, D., 267 Gehrke, S., 522
Fitzgerald, J., 490 Geiger, R.L., 268
Flaster, A., 333, 360 Gerald, D., 431, 436, 448, 449
Fleiss, J.L., 87 Gerlaugh, K., 476
Fligstein, N., 512 Gerstmann, E., 244
Florax, R., 224 Getz, A., 487
Flores, S.M., 49 Getz, M., 376, 392
Flores Carmona, J., 516 Giancola, J., 219
Florida, R.L., 505 Gibson, M., 142
Foldy, E., 517 Gibson, N., 538
Follett, M.P., 513, 526–528 Gidney, C., 153, 155
Folmer, H., 224 Gilbert, A.J., 297
Foner, A., 277 Gilbert, B.A., 224
Forest, J.J.F., 257 Gildersleeve, R., 437, 438, 440, 441
Forman, T.A., 13, 38, 63, 64, 441 Gill, A.M., 181, 186, 193, 198, 199, 201
Foster, S., 219 Gillborn, D., 428
Foucault, M., 128, 424, 543 Gilles, R., 480
Fourcade, M., 511 Gillotte-Tropp, H., 490
Fourie, M., 537 Gilpin, L.S., 83
Francis, C.H., 81–123 Gintis, H., 543
Author Index 567

Gisle, L., 547 Gurin, G., 11, 37, 460

Givvin, K.B., 475 Gurin, P., 11, 12, 14–16, 18, 27, 28, 35–37, 51,
Gladieux, L., 207, 506 53, 54, 417, 425, 449, 452–454, 460
Glasener, K., 50 Gurin, P.Y., 37
Glasener, K.M., 357, 359 Gurung, R.A.R., 83
Glick, W.H., 540 Gutierrez, K., 46, 63
Gloria, A.M., 427 Gutierrez, R., 424, 425, 427, 428, 430, 433,
Goen, S., 490 434, 436, 451, 458–460
Goldin, C., 208 Gutmann, A., 420, 425, 456–460
Goldman, C., 390
Goldrick-Rab, S., 175, 180, 181, 184, 190, 197,
208, 220, 346 H
Goldstein, L., 487 Hackman, H., 455
Goldstein, M., 261 Hagedorn, L., 37
Goldstein Hode, M., 66 Hahn, E.D., 329
Gomez, L.M., 486 Hakkola, L., 423
Gonyea, R.M., 448 Hakuta, K., 28, 36, 37
Gonzales, L.D., 505–548 Hale, F.W., 37
Gonzales, R.G., 299, 347 Hall, B.L., 537
González, J.C., 48, 530 Hall, K., 505–548
González Canaché, M.S., 66 Hallgren, K.A., 87
González Canché, M.S., 175–231 Halpern, D.F., 99
Gordon, G., 84 Halsey, A.H., 240, 257
Gordon, L., 506 Hammack, F.M., 297
Gordon da Cruz, C., 41 Hammer, J.H., 54
Gotanda, N., 42, 46 Haney López, I.F., 13, 50
Gottesman, D.M., 219 Hannan, M.T., 533
Gottfredson, N.C., 35 Harbeck, K.M., 171
Goudas, A.M., 471 Hardy, C.D.W., 179
Gouldner, A.W., 277, 508 Hargens, L.L., 84
Gow, L., 486 Haring-Smith, T., 419, 422–424, 427, 433, 434,
Gramsci, A., 19 439, 446–448, 450–452, 454–458
Grandey, A.A., 509 Harkavy, I., 510
Grauerholz, L., 83 Harper, S., 418, 424, 425, 430
Graves, K., 127–168 Harper, S.R., 37, 44, 52, 54
Greene, W.H., 329, 340, 346, 348–350, 358 Harrell, F., 211
Greenfeld, L., 245 Harris, C., 16, 29, 50
Greytak, E.A., 529 Harris, M., 508
Griffin, B.A., 204 Harrison, D.E., 330
Griffin, K., 530 Hart, J., 530
Griffin, K.A., 48, 55, 544 Hart, N.K., 358
Grodsky, E., 479 Hartle, T.W., 181
Groot, W., 372 Hartley, M., 434, 435, 439, 445
Grubb, N., 475, 476 Hartnell, C.A., 508
Grubb, W.N., 192, 199, 477, 492 Harvey, M., 525
Gruhl, J., 25 Harvey Wingfield, A., 509
Grunow, A., 486 Hashimoto, K., 393
Guarasci, R., 425, 448, 457, 458 Haskins, R., 219
Guba, E.G., 514 Hauser, R.M., 220
Guillermo-Wann, C., 37 Haycock, K., 420, 425, 431, 436, 438, 448, 449
Guinier, L., 17, 41, 51, 56, 61 Hayek, J., 420
Gumport, P.J., 355, 506, 508, 534 Hayward, C., 483, 489, 490
Gupta, A., 390 Hayward, F.M., 441, 443
568 Author Index

Hazelwood, A.M., 544 Huang, F., 240, 270

Healey, M., 82 Huang, M., 488
Hearn, J.C., 355 Hudesman, J., 487
Heckman, J.J., 186, 188, 195, 200 Huisman, J., 248, 521
Helland, P., 81 Humphrey, J.R., 544
Helland, P.C., 179 Humphreys, D., 422, 424, 431, 436, 438, 442,
Helms, M.M., 534 447, 449, 452–454, 456
Henderson, B.B., 82 Hunt-White, T., 185
Henderson, J.V., 224, 226 Hurtado, S., 11, 14–16, 18, 27, 28, 31, 35, 37,
Hentschke, G.C., 534 50, 51, 53, 65, 346, 347, 422, 423, 425,
Hermanowicz, J.C., 239–84, 248, 275, 277, 278 434, 448, 450, 456, 460, 461
Hern, K., 475, 482, 487 Hurwitz, M., 321
Heston, A., 269 Hutchings, p., 81
Hevert, K.T., 387, 389, 393 Hutchins, K., 508
Hiebert, J., 475 Hüther, O., 248
Higbee, J.L., 475
Higgs, H., 388–390
Hill, K.L., 218 I
Hill Collins, P., 51, 54, 61 Ichino, K., 212
Hillman, A.J., 533 Ingersoll, R., 219
Hillman, N.W., 355 Inkelas, K.K., 347
Hilmer, M.J., 187, 196, 197 Inness, S.A., 142
Hinds, S., 491 Inwood, J., 536
Hinkle, D.E., 360 Inwood, J.F., 505, 510
Hoachlander, G., 185 Ishitani, T.T., 355
Hoang, H., 488 Ishler, J.C., 421
Hochschild, A.R., 529 Iverson, S., 417–419, 422–425, 427, 429, 430,
Hodara, M., 470, 472–474, 478–481, 483, 486 438, 439, 441, 446, 447, 452
Hodgkinson, H.L., 436 Iverson, S.V., 530
Hodson, R., 259, 270 Izadi, H., 376
Hofstadter, R., 179, 259
Hohle, E.A., 280
Høien, T., 490 J
Holland, P.W., 204 Jabour, A., 141, 142, 166
Hollis, P., 395 Jackson, J.F., 14, 18, 51
Holyoak, K.J., 487 Jacobs, J.A., 511
Holzer, H.J., 219 Jacobs, P., 450
Hooks, B., 455, 458, 507, 514–516 Jacobson, L., 193, 199
Horace, W.C., 329 Jaggars, S., 471, 482
Horn, C.L., 49 Jaggars, S.S., 469–496
Horn, L., 180, 181, 185, 474 James, E., 371
Horowitz, H.L., 136, 138, 142 Jamieson-Drake, D., 35, 434
Hosmer, D.W., 302, 318, 319, 345, 361 Jang, Y.S., 526
Hossler, D., 424, 436, 437 Jansujwicz, J.S., 508
Houle, J.N., 358 Jantan, M., 267
House, E., 360 Jaquette, O., 297, 346, 394
Howard, J., 145, 146, 166 Jaschik, S., 59
Howard-Hamilton, M., 418 Jayakumar, U.M., 11–67
Howell, J., 347 Jenkins, D., 471, 482–485, 492, 495
Howell, J.S., 479 Jeong, D., 470
Hu, S., 35, 420, 441, 442, 444, 445, 447, 453, Jepsen, C., 194, 199
454, 479, 481 Jermier, J.M., 514
Huang, C., 374 Jiang, Y., 219
Author Index 569

Johnes, G., 374, 376, 387, 388, 390, 393 Kim, J., 297, 299
Johnes, J., 387, 388 Kim, Y.K., 66
Johnson, E.P., 145, 146, 166, 167 Kinder, D., 63
Johnson, J., 474 King, P.M., 454
Johnson, M., 277 Kinicki, A.J., 508, 513, 524
Johnson, S.M., 219 Kinzie, J., 420
Jones, J., 28 Kirst, M.W., 480
Jones, S., 525 Klasik, D., 49
Klassen, M., 429
Klein, A., 533
K Kluegel, J., 63
Kahlenberg, R., 420, 421, 448, 450–452, 458 Knight, J., 441–444, 535
Kahlenberg, R.D., 219 Knill, C., 248
Kalamkarian, H.S., 475, 478, 481 Knippenberg, D.V., 508
Kalleberg, A.L., 270 Knoell, D.M., 199
Kane, T.J., 191, 199, 201 Koertge, N., 244
Kang, J., 59, 60 Kogan, M., 521
Kanhai, D., 505–548 Koo, K.K., 66
Kanji, G.K., 519 Kopeinig, S., 204
Kanter, R.M., 31, 543 Kopko, E., 483
Kantner, J., 475 Koranteng, A., 299
Karabel, J., 16, 181, 543 Korgen, K., 35
Karkouti, I.M., 418, 420, 421, 425, 427 Korn, J.S., 219
Karp, M., 470 Korn, W.S., 347
Karp, M.M., 474, 475, 493 Kosciw, J.G., 529
Kärreman, D., 520 Koshal, M., 376, 388–390, 392, 394
Kasman, M., 49 Koshal, R., 376, 388–390, 392, 394
Kasper, H., 220 Kramer, J.W., 81–123
Katz, J., 128, 134–136, 166, 168 Kramer, R., 274
Katz, L.F., 208 Kreisman, D., 207
Keegan, B., 520 Krücken, G., 248
Keene, A.J., 506, 510 Kuehner, A., 490
Kehm, B.M., 240, 254, 272 Kuh, G., 420, 424, 427, 439, 440
Kelchen, R., 355 Kuh, G.D., 35, 418, 420, 428, 433, 442, 447,
Keller, P., 42 448
Kelly, B.T., 544 Kuhn, T.S., 84
Kember, D., 486, 487 Kull, M., 219
Kendall, E., 130, 140 Kumasi, K., 428, 434, 440, 441, 445, 448, 450,
Kennedy, D., 260 452, 455, 458
Kennedy, E.L., 136 Kuncel, N.R., 480
Kennedy, K., 421, 426 Kuntz, A., 437
Kennedy, P., 487 Kurlaender, M., 30, 185, 186, 189, 196, 197,
Kennedy, R., 434, 450, 452, 453, 455, 456 213, 479
Kezar, A., 506, 508, 515, 517, 520, 522, 523 Kuvaeva, A., 508, 526
Kezar, A.J., 505, 536 Kuzminov, Y., 258
Khader, L., 506 Kwiek, M., 267, 278, 506, 521
Khalifa, M., 510 Kyvik, S., 278
Khurana, R., 511
Kidder, W., 49
Kienzl, G., 356 L
Kienzl, G.S., 193, 197, 199, 485 La Noue, G.R., 417, 449, 451
Kilgo, C.A., 84 Laanan, F.S., 192, 199
Kim, D., 35 Laband, D., 374, 376, 386, 388–393
570 Author Index

Ladson-Billings, G., 12, 428, 430, 449, 451, Liu, Y., 225
455 Locke, W., 267
Lahr, H., 495 Locks, A.M., 37
Lambert, L.S., 508 Lodahl, J.B., 84
Lamont, M., 510 Logue, A., 489, 491
Landreman, L., 27 Long, B., 471
Langer, J.A., 475 Long, B.T., 185, 186, 189, 196, 197, 200, 213,
Lapeyrouse, L.M., 509 471–473
Lather, P., 514, 516 Long, J.S., 297, 302, 306, 309–314, 317, 322,
Laub, J., 219 324, 328, 331–333, 336–338, 340, 341,
Lavin, D., 470 343, 345, 346, 348–350, 353, 358–360
Lawrence, J.H., 272 Long, T.L., 523
Lawrence III, C.R., 58 Lontz, B., 487
Lawson, S.F., 147 Lopez, G., 428, 449
Lechuga, V.M., 508 Lopez, G.E., 28, 454
Ledesma, M.C., 12, 13, 16, 29, 52, 53, 62, 63 Lorenz, C., 522
Lee, J.C., 371–414 Lovett, M.C., 475
Lee, J.J., 547 Lowery, B.S., 46
Lee, S., 458 Lozano, J.B., 346
Lee, S.S., 51, 58 Lucas, L., 249, 274, 278
Lefoe, G., 525 Lucas, R.E., 224
Lehman, J.S., 12, 28 Luckey, W., 81
Leiblum, M., 435, 436 Ludwig, J., 219
Leigh, D.E., 181, 186, 193, 198, 199, 201 Lui, J., 445
Leisyte, L., 248 Lumsden, C.J., 533
Lemeshow, S., 302, 309 Lundin, S.C., 540
Lenton, P., 374, 388, 390, 393 Luo, J., 35, 434
Lentz, B., 376, 386, 388, 389, 391, 393 Lynch, A.D., 219
Leonardo, Z., 39, 44–47, 52, 63, 64, 529 Lynch, C.S., 337
Lerman, R.I., 220 Lynn, M., 14, 19, 510
Leslie, L., 186, 371, 376, 391
Levecque, K., 547
Leventhal, T., 219 M
Levesque, V., 508 Maassen, P.A.M., 267
Levey, T., 470 MacArthur, C., 487
Levine, A., 421 Macaulay, A.C., 538
Lewis, A.E., 13, 38, 61, 63, 64 MacKay, A., 144–146
Lewis, D., 204, 387–390, 393, 394 Magazinnik, A., 477
Lewis, E., 12 Mahoney, J.T., 525
Li, A.Y., 355 Maldonado, M.M., 516
Liao, H.Y., 54 Malek, A., 519
Lichtenberger, E., 180, 197, 198, 208, 220 Mamiseishvili, K., 427
Lin, T.F., 359 Manum, S., 393
Lin, Y., 191, 199 Mangoldt, H., 374
Lincoln, Y.S., 514 Manning, K., 508, 526, 539–541
Linnell, S., 522 Mansfield, P., 207
Lipe, K.K., 510, 535, 538 Maramba, D., 37
Lipson, D.N., 13, 16 Maravelias, C., 520
Liston, D., 83 March, J.G., 526
Litowitz, D., 451, 455 Marchitello, M., 475
Little, R.J., 298 Marcotte, D.E., 193, 194, 199
Litvack, S., 148, 149 Mare, R.D., 333
Liu, A., 51, 56 Marginson, S., 248, 262, 263, 267, 505
Author Index 571

Marichal, J., 423, 424, 430, 435, 438 Mendoza, L., 417, 424
Marin, P., 508 Merrill, L., 219
Maring, E.F., 219 Merton, R.K., 261, 276, 513
Marion, R., 526, 532 Mestenhauser, J.A., 425, 445
Marks, J., 127–130, 136, 137, 140, 142 Metzger, W.P., 256, 259, 261
Marquez, R., 220 Meyer, J.W., 254, 513, 534
Marsh, T.E.J., 19 Meyers, J., 442
Marsicano, C., 81–123 Michaels, W.B., 422, 423, 440, 455
Martell, C., 50 Middlebrook, W., 376
Martin, D., 19 Mignot Gerard, S., 248
Martin, D.G., 505, 510 Milem, J., 16
Martin, R.A., 160 Milem, J.F., 14, 15, 18, 36, 37, 51, 53, 426, 441,
Martin, R.K., 132, 135, 153 452–456, 460, 461
Martinez, R., 418, 423 Miller, B., 37
Martínez-Alemán, A.M., 52, 514, 516, 543 Mills, L., 150
Martinez-Wenzl, M., 220 Mills, N., 472
Martorell, P., 471 Milner IV, H.R., 428
Marullo, S., 510 Minow, M., 23
Maslow, A.H., 524 Misa, K., 35
Mason, L., 486 Mitchell, M., 325
Massie, M., 29 Mokher, C., 193, 199
Mather, M., 431, 434 Monaghan, D.B., 197–199
Mathew, A., 521 Moore, F., 376
Matsuda, M.J., 58 Moorehead, D.L., 522
Maxey, D., 506, 523 Morgan, G., 509, 514, 515, 517
Mayer, A., 477 Morley, L., 543
Maynard, J., 376, 388 Morphew, C., 434, 435, 445, 533, 534
Mayo, J., 387 Morral, A.R., 204
Mayorga, M.M., 427 Morrison, E., 330
McCabe, J., 38, 52, 66 Moscati, R., 274, 278
McCabe, M.L., 538 Moses, M., 422–425, 427, 431, 441, 442,
McCaffrey, D.F., 204 447–449, 456
McCall, B.P., 297, 299 Mrkich, S., 487
McCann, K.I., 544 Mueller, J., 417
McClendon, S.A., 14 Mueller, J.A., 427
McClenney, K.M., 221 Mueller, M.K., 547
McCoy, J.P., 330 Muñoz, S.M., 506, 516, 531
McDonough, P.M., 56, 219, 223, 299, 347 Museus, S.D., 13, 37, 39, 54
McDougall, P.P., 224 Musselin, C., 240, 242, 245, 248, 252, 257,
McElroy, T., 35 269, 271, 272, 274–276, 281
McEwen, M., 418 Mustafa, S., 358
McFarlin, I., 471
McGee, R., 277
McKitrick, S.A., 355 N
McLaughlin, M.M., 261 Nagaoka, J., 297
McMahon, W., 386 Nagda, B.A., 14, 28, 454
McNair, T., 449 Naidoo, R., 506
McNaron, T.A.H., 145 Nash, M.A., 132, 154
McPherson, M.S., 480 Nash-Ditzel, S., 487
Medsker, L.L., 199 Neave, G., 242, 272, 273
Melguizo, T., 180, 181, 186, 197, 198, 208, Nelson, R., 387, 389, 393
213, 220, 472 Nelson Laird, T.F., 35, 36
Menard, S., 302, 306, 307, 339 Nerad, M., 330
572 Author Index

Ness, E., 214 Paige, R.M., 425, 445, 446

Neville, H.A., 54 Paino, M., 83
Neville, S., 474 Palardy, G.J., 299
Ngo, F., 472 Paley, A.R., 151
Nicholson, S.A., 486 Pallais, A., 347, 348
Nicola, T., 299 Palmer, M., 179, 424, 436
Nicolazzo, Z., 506 Palmer, N.A., 529
Nidiffer, J., 139, 140 Palmer, R.T., 37
Niehaus, E., 508 Palmieri, P., 136, 137, 140, 166
Niu, S.X., 347 Pampel, F.C., 302
Nixon, J., 534 Panter, A.T., 35
Nodine, T., 473 Panzar, J., 381, 382, 386
Nora, A., 37 Papademetre, L., 442
Norman, J., 489 Papke, L.E., 355–357
Norman, M.K., 475 Park, H., 56
Norton, E.C., 314 Park, J.J., 11–67
Novack, V., 220 Parker, L., 14, 510
Núñez, A.-M., 51, 54, 61, 530 Parker, T.L., 13
Nunez-Wormack, E., 435 Parra, E., 394
Nuss, E., 425 Parsad, B., 470
Nuss, E.M., 418 Parsons, T., 82, 274
Nussbaum, M., 128 Pascarella, E., 425
Pascarella, E.T., 37, 53, 191, 199, 201
Pasque, P.A., 437, 506–508, 515, 526
O Patai, D., 244
Oaxaca, R.L., 329 Patton, L., 418, 422, 427–430, 433, 441, 447,
O’Callaghan, E.M., 14 450, 451, 461
O’Connor, N., 297 Paul, H., 540
Odell, P., 35 Paulsen, M., 371, 376, 380, 425
Odeshoo, J., 132 Paulsen, M.B., 82–84
Olsen, D.M., 142, 143 Paulson, E.J., 475
Olsen, D., 84 Peng, C.Y.J., 360
O’Meara, K., 508, 526, 544 Pereschica, P., 508
Oram, A., 137 Perez, T., 487
Orfield, G., 16, 30, 57, 219, 448, 454, 461 Pérez-Bustos, T., 529
Oseguera, L., 37, 449 Perin, D., 475, 476, 484, 486
Osei-Kofi, N., 445, 448 Perkins, D.D., 537
Oskrochi, R., 376 Perna, L., 207, 506
Ospina, R., 357 Perna, L.W., 51, 241, 297, 299
Ospina, S., 517 Peroni, C., 482
Oster, M., 359 Person, A.E., 185, 197
Ota, A., 420, 423, 424, 439, 441, 442, 445, 446 Peters, M.A., 542, 543
O’Toole, D.M., 346 Peterson, M.W., 507
Ott, A.N., 474 Pettigrew, T.F., 34, 453
Ott, J.S., 526 Peverly, S., 486
Otten, M., 445–447 Pfeffer, F.T., 175, 180, 190, 197, 208
Ouchi, W.G., 540 Pfeffer, J., 513, 526, 533
Owens, D., 475 Pfouts, R., 376
Ozga, J.T., 529 Philippakos, Z., 487
Phillippe, K., 180
Phillips, K., 434, 458
P Phoenix, A., 433, 452
Pacheco, I.F., 258 Picca, L., 63
Page, S.E., 11, 30 Picciano, J., 330
Paige, M., 442 Pifer, M.J., 544
Author Index 573

Pike, G.R., 448, 450 Rashdall, H., 261, 266, 268

Pinar, W.F., 130 Ratledge, A., 494
Pindyck, R., 376, 384 Raufman, J., 475, 478
Pinto, M., 207 Ray, R., 543
Pippert, D., 426–429, 439, 446 Reardon, S.F., 49, 55, 65
Pishke, J., 329 Reason, R., 444, 446, 447
Pitre, C.C., 436 Reason, R.D., 37
Pitre, P., 436 Reddick, R.J., 48, 55
Plaks, J.E., 35 Reddy, V., 479, 481
Planty, M., 220 Reeves, R., 376
Platt, G.M., 82 Reichard, D.A., 162, 163
Poff, D.C., 538 Reisberg, L., 258
Ponjuan, L., 27, 55, 543 Rendón, L., 220, 418
Pope, R., 417, 418, 421, 422, 426–428, 436, Renn, K.A., 506
442, 451, 453, 461 Reyes, N., 510, 538
Pope, R.L., 427 Reynolds, A., 417, 427
Porter, R.K., 44, 45, 47, 52, 63 Reynolds, C.L., 190, 196, 197, 211, 213
Porter, S., 337, 395 Reynolds, L., 359
Porter, S.R., 527 Rhee, B.S., 347
Posselt, J., 50 Rhine, S., 388, 391
Posselt, J.R., 51, 56, 66, 297, 299, 342 Rhoades, G., 186, 242, 248, 263, 266, 272, 506,
Poucher, J.G., 132, 135, 150, 166 521, 522, 527, 534, 535
Powell, J.A., 23–26, 28, 30, 33–36, 45, 50, 422, Rice, E.L., 81
423 Richardson, R.C., 37
Powell, W.W., 534 Richburg-Hayes, L., 222
Power, M., 249, 278 Richland, L.E., 487
Prasad, A., 514, 516, 535 Ridgeway, G., 204, 211, 212
Prather, G., 472 Riesman, D., 179
Proctor, B.D., 218 Riley, M.W., 277
Proctor, R.N., 143 Rios-Aguilar, C., 66
Provasnik, S., 220 Rivera, L.A., 505
Pryor, J.H., 346 Rivera, M., 508, 526
Pula, J.J., 522 Robbins, C.M., 538
Purdie-Vaughns, V., 52 Robst, J., 387
Puryear, M., 482 Rochkind, J., 474
Pusch, M.D., 442 Roderick, M., 297, 299
Pusser, B., 52 Rodriguez, A., 295–361
Rodríguez, C., 495
Rodriguez, O., 471, 472, 481
Q Roethlisberger, F.J., 513
Quaye, S.J., 37, 52, 418, 424, 506 Rogers, I.H., 16
Quinn, J.C., 135 Roksa, J., 198
Quinn, R.E., 540 Ropers-Huilman, R., 447
Quint, J.C., 477, 491 Rosenbaum, J.E., 185, 197, 223
Rosenbaum, P., 211, 212
Rosenblatt, P., 219
R Rosinger, K.O., 355
Radcliife, R., 486 Ross, T., 22, 24, 42, 46
Radford, A.W., 59, 64, 179 Rostan, M., 262, 263
Ramirez, F., 442 Roueche, J.E., 475
Ramirez, F.O., 254 Rouse, C.E., 181, 187, 188, 191, 196, 197, 199,
Rankin, S.R., 37 201, 208, 222
Rapino, M.A., 224–226 Rowan, B., 254, 513, 534
574 Author Index

Rowan-Kenyon, H.T., 299 Schrecker, E., 259, 261

Rowlands, J., 534 Schuster, J.H., 257–258, 271, 506, 521, 544
Royer, D.J., 480 Schwartz, B., 83
Rubin, D., 204, 212 Schwartz, W., 537
Rubin, D.B., 211, 212, 298 Schwartzman, S., 253
Rubinfeld, D., 376, 384 Schwarz, J., 136–138
Rudd, E., 330 Schwarz, S.W., 219
Rudd, T., 476, 477 Schwarzenberger, A., 393
Rudolph, F., 261 Scott, M., 492
Rufino, C., 393 Scott, M.A., 297
Rullman, L.J., 162 Scott, R., 513, 534
Rumbley, L.E., 245, 276–278 Scott, W.R., 519, 533, 540
Rupp, D., 509 Scott-Clayton, J., 222, 346, 469–472, 474,
Rupp, L.J., 137 478–480, 483, 486, 492, 494
Russell, C., 261 Scrivener, S., 222, 491, 494
Russell, J., 376 Scudder, V.D., 137, 140
Russell, T.J., 522 Seal, R.K., 521
Rutschow, E.Z., 477, 489, 492 Sears, J.T., 132, 135, 146–149, 166
Ryland, K., 525 Seeber, B.K., 283
Segovia, J., 55
Sekaquaptewa, D., 35
S Selznick, P., 513, 534
Sáenz, V., 35 Sergiovanni, T., 526
Saenz, V.B., 347 Sergiovanni, T.J., 539
Sáenz, V.B., 55 Serna-Wallender, E., 489
Sahli, N., 136, 138, 139 Seta, C.E., 35
Salancik, G.R., 513, 526, 533 Seta, J.J., 35
Salas, C., 427 Shafritz, J.M., 524, 526
Salas, S., 66 Shahjahan, R.A., 505, 517, 536
Salisbury, M., 425, 445, 446 Shanahan, T., 490
Samson, F.L., 64 Shand-Tucci, D., 132, 135, 143, 144, 151, 166
Sancak-Marusa, I., 487 Shattock, M., 268
Sanchez, C., 509 Shear, M.D., 181
Sánchez, J.R., 192, 199 Shiell, T.C., 261
Sanders, L.M., 63 Shils, E., 253, 260–262, 266
Sandy, J., 188, 196, 197 Shin, J.C., 240, 245, 254, 264, 267, 278
Sanlo, R., 461 Shoemaker, N., 536
Santa, C.M., 490 Shore, J., 486
Santamaría, A.P., 517, 527, 528 Shore, M., 486
Santamaría, L.J., 517, 527, 528 Shugart, S., 457
Santos, J.L., 347 Shulman, L.S., 81
Santos, M., 388, 391 Siaya, L., 441, 443
Sartorius, K.C., 168 Siegfried, J., 376
Satterfield, J., 544 Sikora, A.C., 185
Sav, G., 388, 390, 392–394 Silka, L., 537
Scarino, A., 442 Silva, E., 488
Schaffer, F., 261 Silverman, J.A.R., 132, 154
Schein, E.H., 540, 541 Simmons, A., 84
Schmidt, P., 359 Simon, D., 358
Schneider, C.G., 459 Simon, H.A., 526
Schneider, E., 492 Simon, N.S., 219
Schneider, M., 506 Simone, S., 469
Schnur, J.A., 132, 135, 146–148, 150 Singh, J.V., 533
Author Index 575

Singleton, G.E., 44 Stil, C., 506

Sirat, M., 267 Stoddard, E.W., 420, 456
Skinne, C., 219 Stovall, D., 19
Skinner, E.F., 37 Stratton, L.S., 346
Skomsvold, P., 180, 181 Strauss, V., 57
Slantcheva, S., 270 Streb, M.J., 244
Slaughter, S., 1–10, 186, 244, 248, 534, 535 Stroessner, S.J., 35
Sleebos, E., 508 Strohl, J., 355
Smart, J., 371 Strunk, K.K., 167
Smart, J.C., 191, 199, 201 Stuckey, D., 219
Smelser, N.J., 256, 258 Stulberg, L.M., 16
Smith, A., 223 Sturdivant, R.X., 302
Smith, D.E., 510, 543 Sujitparapitaya, S., 37
Smith, D.G., 11, 12, 14, 18, 37, 48, 51, 425 Sulcer, B., 488
Smith, J., 347, 348 Sullivan, G.L., 180
Smith, M., 420, 423, 424, 426, 435, 437–439, Summers, R., 269
441, 442, 445–447, 461 Sun, J.C., 199
Smith, R., 63 Sweeny, K., 436, 446, 447
Smith, W.A., 38, 52 Syrett, N.L., 132, 133, 151, 152, 165, 166
Smith-Rosenberg, C., 136
Smolentseva, A., 270
Snell, M., 475, 482, 487 T
So, T.S.H., 360 Taddeo, J.A., 135
Soares, J., 41 Taft, J., 140
Solórzano, D., 32, 37, 38, 429, 433, 436 Taggart, A., 297, 299, 309
Solórzano, D.A., 38 Takagi, D.Y., 58
Solórzano, D.G., 12, 14, 61, 510 Takewell, W.C., 167
Solyom, J.A., 515 Talbot, D.M., 418–421, 425–428, 433, 443
Sommo, C., 477, 494 Talesh, R.A., 37
Song, J., 506 Tambascia, T.P., 37
Soyer, R., 329 Tambi, B.A., 519
Soysal, Y.N., 254 Tate, W.F., 12
Spanierman, L.B., 54 Taylor, A., 417
Spicer, A., 520 Taylor, B.J., 534, 547
Spindt, H.A., 179 Taylor, E., 428
Spivak, G.C., 535 Taylor, F.W., 513, 518
St. John, E.P., 360 Teece, D., 376
Stablein, R.E., 514, 516 Teelken, C., 519
Stacey, G., 471 Teichler, U., 243, 245, 254, 255, 264, 267, 279,
Stage, F.K., 52, 65, 360 280
Stahl, N., 475 Teranishi, R.T., 299
Stark, B., 147 Terenzini, P.T., 37
Starks, B., 330 Terosky, A.L., 510, 544
Steele, C.M., 31, 52, 451, 457 Thanassoulis, E., 390
Steele, S., 417 Thelin, J.R., 257
Stefancic, J., 429, 516 Thernstrom, A., 35
Stefanic, J., 18 Thernstrom, S., 35
Stensaker, B., 521, 527 Thomas, G., 299
Stephan, J.L., 185, 186, 189, 196, 197, 208, 213 Thomas, L.L., 480
Stern, R.N., 513 Thomas, T.C., 427, 428, 461
Stevens, M., 269, 278 Thompson, B.J., 475
Stevens, P., 374, 376, 387 Thompson, L., 476
Stigler, J.W., 475, 487 Thompson, M., 35
576 Author Index

Thurber, H.J., 427 Vargas, P., 35

Tien, F., 374 Vaselewski, M., 486
Tienda, M., 39, 347 Vasillopulos, C., 526
Tierney, M.L., 393 Vaughan, G.B., 177, 179, 180
Tierney, W.G., 517, 534, 540 Veblen, T., 534
Tilak, J.B., 521 Velasco, M.S., 374, 388
Tinkelman, D., 534 Venezia, A., 473, 474, 478
Tirivayi, N., 372 Veracini, L., 536
Titus, M., 387 Verry, D., 387–390, 393
Titus, M.A., 297, 299, 340 Vicinus, M., 136, 140
Toma, I.D., 534 Vigil, D., 506, 531
Topping, K.J., 540 Villalpando, O., 544
Torres, L., 445 Visher, M.G., 476, 477, 493
Torres-Olave, B.M., 506, 522 Vogt, P., 191, 199
Toutkoushian, R.K., 245, 371–414 Vogt, W.P., 245
Townsend, B.K., 220 Volkwein, J., 386
Townsend, J.B., 49 von Hippel, W., 35
Treanor, P., 434, 439 Vostal, F., 283
Tremblay, C., 421, 436
Trimble, M., 483, 484
Trimble, M.J., 195, 199 W
Trivetti, P.K., 349 Wachen, J., 484, 485
Tropp, L.R., 34 Wajcman, J., 283
Troske, K., 199 Walker, S., 483
Trow, M., 256 Wallsten, S.J., 224
Trow, M.A., 240 Walton, G.M., 52
Trower, C., 543 Wang, G., 35
Trowler, P., 539 Wang, H., 314
Trueba, H.T., 443, 445 Wang, H.L., 536
Trusts, P.C., 219 Wang, X., 190, 196–198
Tsang, D., 132, 153 Wang, Y.F., 54
Tuchman, G., 249 Warikoo, N.K., 12, 13, 18, 44–46, 54, 62, 63,
Tuck, E., 510, 535, 538 66
Tucker, R.C., 542 Watanaben-Rose, M., 489
Turley, R.N.L., 224, 225 Wathington, H.D., 476
Turnbull, A., 137 Watson, J.S., 45
Turner, C.S.V., 48, 530 Waugaman, C., 510
Turner, S., 179, 180 Wawrzynski, M.R., 527
Twigg, C.A., 484 Wayt, L., 14
Weagley, R.O., 359
Weber, M., 518, 519
U Weber, T., 133, 135, 164–166
Umakoshi, T., 252, 267 Weiler, K., 132, 146, 153, 154
Umbach, P., 337, 425 Weimer, M., 82–89, 91, 100, 109, 111–113
Umbach, P.D., 523, 527 Weinbaum, A., 495, 496
Unzueta, M.M., 46, 63 Weisbrod, B.A., 534
Weiss, M.J., 476
Weissbrodt, D., 417
V Weissman, E., 476
Vabø, A., 521, 527 Welch, S., 25
van den Brink, H., 372 Weldon, J., 376
Van der Heyden, J., 547 Wells, A.M., 127–130, 136, 138, 140,
Van der Werf, M., 356 142, 166
Van Noy, M., 484 Wells, A.S., 453
van Vught, F.A., 267 Wells, C., 325
Author Index 577

Wells, R.S., 52, 337 X

Wetzel, J.N., 346 Xu, D., 471, 472, 480, 487
Whetten, D.A., 540
Whitaker, D.G., 191, 199, 201
White, G., 422, 461 Y
White, T., 453, 488 Yaffee, R.A., 360
Whitelaw, M.J., 281 Yamada, H., 488
Wholey, D.R., 533 Yamamoto, E., 19
Wickersham, K., 198 Yamasaki, E., 219
Wiederspan, M., 208 Yang, K.W., 510, 538
Wightman, L.F., 35 Yen, C., 487
Wilder, C.S., 505, 510, 535, 537 Yesilyurt, S., 488
Willett, T., 479, 480, 483, 489, 490 Yosso, T., 32, 429, 436
Williams, D.A., 14, 18, 39, 51 Yosso, T.J., 14, 38, 44, 51, 52, 61,
Williams, E.A., 35 505, 510
Willig, D., 381, 382 Young, R.L., 84
Willig, R., 386 Yudkevich, M., 245, 258, 276–278
Wilson, B.R., 506
Wimberly, G.L., 131
Wing, A.K., 516 Z
Winship, C., 333 Zald, M.N., 514
Winston, G., 390 Zambrana, R.E., 509, 528, 543
Winters, K.T., 447 Zeidenberg, M., 485, 492
Wise, T., 42, 449 Zeileis, A., 355
Wiseley, W.C., 192, 199 Zemsky, B., 461
Withers, M.C., 533 Zha, Q., 262
Witmer, D., 376 Zhang, H., 376
Witt, D., 28 Zhang, L., 214
Wolniak, G.C., 299 Zhang, S., 35
Wong, A., 58, 484 Zhao, L.C., 176, 211
Wong, K., 509 Zook, G.F., 180
Wood, J.L., 48 Zuberi, T., 19, 20
Wooldridge, J.M., 306, 345, 354–357, 360 Zucker, L.G., 534
Worthington, A., 388–390 Zuckerman, H., 276
Wright, W., 132, 136, 151, 152, 166 Zúñiga, X., 14, 35
Subject Index

A colorblind ahistorical framing, 41

Academic ability, 298, 299 on the diversity rationale, 40
Academic disciplines of biology, chemistry, innocent victims, 24
history and sociology, 106 legal arguments, 26
Academic drift, 246 legal developments, 21, 22
Academic excellence discourse negative action, 59, 60
classroom diversity, 454 organizations, 29
critical analysis, 454–456 policies, 33
diversity, 452 race-based, 16, 66
educational environments, 454 Akaike Information Criterion (AIC), 309
empirical analyses, 453 American and Continental forms, 247
higher education scholars, 454 American Association of University Professors
postsecondary education, 453 (AAUP), 8, 147, 260
scholars and administrators, 453 American Association of University Women
scholars and practitioners, 452 (AAUW), 147
value-added opportunity, 453 American Council on Education, 528
Academic freedom, 259–261, 264, 266 American Educational Research Association,
Academic level (ACADLVL), 213 130
Academic profession, 241, 506, 521 American model, 253
The Academic Profession in Europe: Responses American Psychological Association, 161
to Societal Change (EUROAC), 279 American society, 544
Accelerated Learning Program (ALP), 482 American Speech-Language-Hearing
Accelerated Study in Associate Programs Association, 2012, 422, 431
(ASAP), 222, 494 Anglo-American concept, 242
Acceleration, 482–486 Applied critical leadership, 527–531,
Accountability, 264 546, 547
Accretion, 249, 256–258 Associated Students of Sacramento State
Achieving the Dream (ATD), 476, 477 College (ASSSC), 162
ACT, 479 Association of American Colleges and
Affirmative action Universities (AAC&U), 422
anti-affirmative action, 59 Average cost curve (AC), 372, 378
Asian Americans, co-optation of, 58 Average incremental cost (AICj), 381, 382, 408,
cases, 12, 42, 58 411
Civil Rights roots, 29 Average marginal effect (AME), 312, 313

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 579

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4
580 Subject Index

B College Assistance Migrant Program (CAMP),

BA/BS degree attainment, 197 531
Bachelor’s degree holders, 216 College enrollment, 303, 307, 308, 316, 322,
Bayesian Information Criterion (BIC), 309 333, 336, 337, 340, 341
Beaver Meadow, 152 College expectations, 299
Beemyn’s analysis, 159 Colonialism, 505
Big and geocoded data, 177, 200–202, 204, Colorblindness, 21, 44–50, 63, 64
208, 228, 230 Columbia Charters Homosexual Group, 158
Bioscene, 87–90, 92, 94, 98, 101, 102, 105, Committee on Student Organizations, 158
106, 109, 112, 114, 115, 118, 122 Communitarian model, 250
Board of Trustees, 127 Community colleges
Boyer’s Domains of Scholarship, 81 AACC, 180
British model, 252 controversial status, federal state- and city-
British system, 245, 273 level, 175
Bureaucracy, 518, 519 cost-effective approach, 223
democratizing- and socioeconomic-leveling
functions of, 221
C educational attainment, 196, 198
California Acceleration Project (CAP), 483, educational outcomes, 196–200
486 educational, occupational and ULCA
Campus climate, 16, 36, 53, 57, 62, 63 outcomes of, 229, 230
Carnegie Foundation, 488 exclusion criteria, 184
Categorical dependent variable modeling inclusion criteria, 182, 184
applications, 296 in (inter)national competitiveness, 221, 222
approaches, 296 labor market outcomes, 199, 200
categories, 295 literature review, 181, 182, 184
data and samples, 298 low-income students, 223
graphical displays, 296 at risk students, 220
in higher education, 296, 297 role of, 179
multi-categorical, 295 sector effects of, 176
out-of-range predictions, 325, 326, 328 student outcomes, 223–228
postsecondary education, 297 two- and four-year students, 185, 186
predicted probabilities, 314, 315 in the U.S., 180
regression models, 296 COMPASS algebra exam, 471
subgroups of interest, 315, 317 COMPASS algebra module, 471
survey, 296 Compelling interest, 24, 25
Censoring, 358, 359 Compensation, 241, 259, 267–271, 281
Centers of Learning, 244 Competitive and individually focused system,
Central and Eastern Europe, 262 505
Chair-model, 272 Complete College America, 175
Changing Academic Profession (CAP) project, Comprehensive reform models, 493–496
259, 279 Conformist diversity research, 17
Chinese scholars, 262 Contextualized instruction, 475, 490
Chi-squared value, 349 Co-requisite models, 482, 483
City University of New York (CUNY), Cornell Scheduling, Coordination, and
489–491 Activities Review Board, 159
Civil Rights Movement, 3, 16, 22, 33 Correct classification rate (CCR), 318
Coalition to Defend Affirmative Action, Cost function, 384, 386, 387
16, 41 Counter perspectives, 277
Coefficients, 310, 311 Count models, 352
Collective leadership, 524 Count regression, 351, 353
College access, 22, 23, 51, 56 Counterfactual/potential outcomes framework,
College applications, 351, 353 202, 204, 205
Subject Index 581

Critical discourse analysis (CDA), 430 Diverse student recruitment

Critical management and collective leadership, academic excellence, 425, 431, 434, 452
521 admissions and college recruiters, 427
Critical management studies, 520, 524, 546 benefits and recruitment, 423
Critical mass business vitality framing, 436, 437
description of, 31 characteristics, college students, 419, 420
dynamic diversity, 52 CRT, 428, 429
of students of color, 26 demographic discourse of diversity, 431,
Critical Race Praxis for Educational Research 433, 434
(CRP-Ed), 20, 61 discourse, 418, 419
actively naming and addressing hidden dominant diversity discourses, 423–425
contributors, inequity, 61 economic framing, 435, 436
advantages, camp, 19 exploring diversity discourses, 431–460
counterproductive chasm, 19 global citizenship perspective, 443
in CRT, 19 higher education, 426
diversity scholarship, 43 intercultural development, 442, 443, 446,
lens, 19, 21 454, 458
tenets, 20 intercultural education, 442, 443
critical engagement with policy, 20 internationalization discourse, 441, 442,
redefining dominant and hegemonic 444–448
systems, 20 intersectionality, 429, 450, 455
relational advocacy toward mutual methodological framework, 429, 430
engagement, 20 neoliberal discourse, 434, 435
research as a dialectical space, 20 racial and ethnic diversity, 421
Critical race theory (CRT), 12, 13, 18, 19, 21, religion and sexual orientation, 421
61, 428, 429 scholars and social justice, 423
Critical work, 17 student affairs and admissions, 418
Cross-racial interaction student affairs professionals, 425, 426
for full participation, 53 university sustainability framing, 437, 438
institutional context, 36 Diversity, 21, 31
and interracial friendships, 66 as advocacy, research, 17
learning and reduce prejudice, 15 and affirmative action, 18
races to undergraduate learning, 35 “both/and” approach, 18
racial heterogeneity, 53 Court’s Fisher decisions, on research, 38
rare/superficial interracial interactions, 35 critical mass, 31, 32
socioeconomic diversity, 55 educational and societal benefits, 27–29
student outcomes, 35 educational benefits of diversity, 33, 34
students’ frequency, 34 in Grutter case, 29
Curriculum, 486–488 Harmony’s approach, 46
Customarily, 256 on inclusion, 38–40
institutional responsibility, students, 37, 38
legal and social science communities, 25–27
D literature/scholarship, 12
Damnation of Theron Ware, 4 marketing, 47
Dana Center Mathways Project (DCMP), 489 multiculturalism, 47
Decision-making theorists, 526 multi-faceted and dynamic phenomena, 48
Decolonizing, 538 numerical, 12
Delta Cost Project (DCP), 394 policies and practices, 15, 16
Democratizing function, 229, 230 in this post-Fisher era, 17
Demographic characteristics, 299 programs, implementation, 45
Density plot, 308 quantitative analyses, 64, 65
Department-college model, 272 and racial equity, 13
Dependent variables, 298 rationale, 18, 28, 33, 36–38, 40, 45
582 Subject Index

Diversity (cont.) production function, 376

research agenda, 62 product-specific economies, 381, 382
research and institutional discourse, 14 reexamination, 374
rhetoric and efforts, 13 scope, 373
scholarship, 14, 15, 19, 21, 27, 43, 51 single-product/multi-product firms, 373
and selectivity, dichotomy, 32, 33 state and national governments, 372
student body, 30, 31 types, 381
systematic inequality, 46 undergraduate education, 372
terminology, 48 Economies of scope
transforming institutions, 44 complementarities, 383
upholding affirmative action, 16 findings, 393, 394
vision of, 45 multi-product firms, 382
work, 15, 17, 18, 21, 45, 47, 50, 52, 63 The Educated ‘Spinster’, 140
worthiness, 11 Educational Longitudinal Study (ELS), 209
Double-hurdle model, 359 Educational Policy Studies, 6
Dutch system, 274 Educational stratification, 218
Dynamic diversity, 52–54 Employment terms and compensation, 268
English language learner (ELL), 309
English-speaking world, 247
E Enrollment, 240, 251, 253, 255–258, 268
Economics Entrepreneurship, 248
control variables, 396 Epistemic injustice, 510
dataset, 394 Equal Protection Clause of the 14th
dependent variable, 396 Amendment, 23, 24
higher education institutions, 387 Equidispersion, 349
inputs, 390 Equity discourse
methods, 398, 402 critical analysis, 450–452
output variables, 395 educational equity and social justice, 448
research outputs, 388, 389 logic of affirmative action, 449, 450
service outputs, 389 race-based admissions policies, 448
teaching outputs, 387, 388 estat imtest command, 324
Economies of scale European models, 252
administrative costs, 375
average/per-unit costs, 374, 379
cost-efficient way, 372 F
cost function, 380, 381, 385 Faculty, 247, 248, 255, 260, 263, 264
cost minimization, 377, 380 appointments, 258
cubic total cost function, 375 employment, 250
decision-making process, 376 governance, 249
empirical studies, 373 Female college enrollment, 316
findings, 391–393 First-wave reforms, 476, 477
graduate and undergraduate students, 380 fitstat command, 310
higher education, 373 Florida Legislative Investigation Committee
higher prices, 371 (FLIC), 132, 146
inefficiency, 371 Florida State University (FSU), 160
Lagrangian function, 376 Foundation for Individual Rights in Education
macroeconomics, 375 (FIRE), 265
marginal cost, 379 Four-year degree holders, 215
mathematical relationship, 377 Four-year research-oriented institutions, 409,
meta-analysis, 376 411
methodological differences, 373 Four-year teaching-oriented institutions, 405, 408
multi-campus institutions, 372 Fractional outcomes, 355–358
OLS models, 406 Frankfurt School’s critical theory approach, 515
organization, 371 French model, 252
Subject Index 583

G I
Gay Academic Union (GAU), 155 Inclusion, on campus
Gay Community Service Center (GCSC), 161 on college campuses, 51, 52
Gay liberation, 155, 158 definition, 39
Gay Liberation Front (GLF), 159 educational benefits, 40
Gay Socialist Action Project, 134 inclusive excellence, 39
Geographical network analysis, 177, 226 multiculturalism, 39
Geographical stratification, 225 racial inequality, 49
German professoriate, 243 Independent variables, 298
German system, 245, 266 Indigenous people, 538
The G.I. Bill, 180 Indigenous scholarship, 547
Global economies of scope, 383 Individual-, Institution-, County- and State-
Globalization, 240, 263, 270, 279 level Characteristics, 206
Gonzalez Canche’s study, 199 Individualism, 505
Goodness-of-fit measurement, 309, 310, 341 Institutional diversity, 51, 67
Guided pathways, 491, 494 Institutionalism, 534
Guttman Community College, 495 Institutional leaders, 15
Institutional theory, 254, 255
Institutionally anchored model, 250
H Institutions, logic model, 226
Harvard Administrative Board, 151 Instructional methods, 85, 88, 109, 111–115,
Heavy-handed interrogation techniques, 154 475, 476
Hegemonic ideology, 19 Integrated Basic Education and Skills Training
Heteroscedasticity, 324 (I-BEST), 484, 485
Higher Education for American Democracy, Integrated Postsecondary Education Data
180 System (IPEDS), 180, 198, 394
Higher education policy Integrated reading, 489, 490
Civil Rights-era policies, 11 Integrated writing, 489, 490
climate and legal requirements, 57 Integration and Immigrant Rights and Fight for
critical engagement with policy, 20 Equality by Any Means Necessary
CRP-Ed, 19 (BAMN), 16, 33
and discourses, 14 Inter-coder reliability, 87
“equity-minded” policy, 39 Intercommunity Justice and Peace Center, 509
interest convergence, 27 Interest convergence
and legal conversation, 27 affirmative action, 42
to photoshopping, 15 constriction, 20, 21, 40, 43
and practices, 13 co-optation, Asian Americans, 58
public policy, 26 expansion, 20, 21, 40, 44
race-conscious admissions, 17, 41 intersecting and shifting identities, 52
race-neutral approaches, 49 strategic effort, 27
racial segregation, 22, 23, 28 strategic racial equity framework, 60–62
University of Michigan policies, 29 International higher education, 242, 247
Hiring committees, 275 International professoriate, 243
Histogram, 347 Interpretation, 320, 323, 341
Historically Black Colleges and Universities Intersectional justice, 510
(HBCUs), 145 Intersectionality, 529, 531, 546
History Departments and Colleges of Intersectionality, in higher education, 54–56
Education, 166 Irrelevant alternatives assumption (IIA), 339
Hybrid model, 251 Ivory tower, 143
584 Subject Index

J formal and informal curricula, 141

Jeannette Marks Cultural Center, 130 fund-raising appeals, 143
Journal of Chemical Education, 83, 87–90, 92, GAU, 155, 156
94, 98, 99, 101, 102, 105, 106, 110, gay equality, 156
112, 114, 115, 119, 122 gay historians, 143
Juvenile justice system, 219 gay rights activist, 146
gender expression, sexual behavior,
attraction and identity, 131
K gender representation, 156
K–12 education, 11, 23, 39, 44, 49, 57 gender transgressions, 136
K–12 schools, 219, 220 GLF, 160
Knowledge base of teaching and learning, 113 The Harvard Crimson, 150
Harvard’s Secret Court, 151
heterosexual behavior, 152
L higher education, 128, 146
Labor justice, 509, 521 high security risks, 154
1885 Labouchere Amendment to the Criminal homoaffectionate relationships, 142
Law Amendment Act, 164 homophobia, 130, 135
Lagrangian function, 377 homosexuality, 135, 150
Latinx students, 530 Homosexuality and Citizenship in Florida,
Leadership-member exchange, 525 148
Leadership quality, 533 hysteria, sexual anxieties and homophobia,
Leader’s relational role, 526 153
Lengthy sequences, 474, 475 ignorance and bigotry, 151
Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer immediate post-War period, 154
(LGBTQ), 128, 132, 136, 137, 144, Independent Florida Alligator, 161
157, 158 integration and equity, 145
academic achievement, 142 interrogation, 151
administrative machinery, 154 intimate partnerships, 140
aesthetic and intellectual interests, 140 Johns Committee, 148, 149
And They Were Wonderful Teachers, 149 Journal of American History, 156
anti-gay research, 134 lack of tolerance, 129
1920 antigay tribunal, 151 The Lesbian History Sourcebook, 137
award-winning documentary, 150 lesbianism, 134, 137, 138
biographical and institutional studies, 132, long-dead women, 137
166 Making Trouble, 155, 157
bisexual/transgender students, professors/ male-female relationship, 137
issues, 131 masculine intellect, 142
chronological time and organizational maternity, 139
structures, 143 Miss Marks and Miss Woolley, 130
coeducational institution, 156, 167 national Delta Upsilon fraternity, 152
Cold War, 132, 133 online resources, 131
college environment, 146 Oral History Review, 162
Communists and Perverts under the Palms, personal animosities, 153
150 physical/social expressions, 155
curricular developments, 168 political geography, 143
distinctive stamp, 141 political movements, 159
educational trajectory, 128 politics of knowledge, 157
education historians, 130 post-World War II, 132
European universities and American psychological mutant/biological freak, 134
fraternities, 133 Queer Man on Campus, 144, 154
feminist movement, 139 racial segregation, 147
financial resources, 133 Radical Teacher, 153
Subject Index 585

religious imperatives, 152 M

repression, 133 Marginal cost curve (MC), 372, 373, 376,
same-sex romantic friendships, 139, 140 378–380, 384, 387, 405
school psychologist, 149 Marginal effect at the means (MEM), 312
scope, 131 Marginal effects, 311–313, 343
search engines, 131 Marginalized social status groups, 15
self-identity, 138 Market-driven values, 435
sex and gender and identity, 163–166 Marxism, 515, 516
sexologists, 141 Marxist, 246
sexual, 129, 133 Marx’s dialectical process, 515
behavior, 137 Marx’s work, 542
and emotional impulses, 136 Masculinity, 133, 142, 152, 164, 165
identities, 144 Massification, 255, 258, 267, 269, 271, 273, 277
minorities, 128 Math sequence, 488, 489
orientation, 128 Meritocracy
politics, 132 and admissions metrics, 56, 57
Sexual Politics, Sexual Communities, 156 anti-affirmative action movement, 58
shameful secret, 129 institutional admissions practices, 58
SHL, 158, 159 SCA-5, 59
smashing, 139 and Whiteness, 63
social The Metamorphosis of Romantic Friendship,
characteristics, 157 140
constructionists, 136 Micro-aggressions, 16, 37, 63
and economic constraints, 137 Minority-Serving Institutions (MSIs), 299
fabrics, 158 Modern organization, 518
prejudice, 128 Modernization, 254
student’s character, 153 Modularization, 483, 484
subversive revelation, 157 Multinomial logistic regression (MNL), 340, 341
Tampa campus, 147 Multinomial logit models, 334
top-tier institutions, 143 Multi-product production possibilities, 383
typology, patterns of identity, 144
university research and administrative
policy, 168 N
visual traces, 163 Napoleonic model, 245
women’s education, 128 National Center for Education Statistics
women’s relationships, 129, 142 (NCES), 298, 420
Limited dependent variable models National Educational Longitudinal Study
ACT score, 348 (NELS), 198, 209
binomial regression techniques, 346 National Education Association, 8
categorization, 345 National Student Loan Data System (NSLDS),
characteristics, 348 209
college application behavior, 347 nbreg command, 349
degree and persistence, 346 Negative binomial regression, 346, 348–352
OLS regression, 346 Neoliberal discourse
transformations, 346 American economic and political systems,
Linear probability model (LPM), 321–325, 440
329 consumer-driven demands, 440
Little Known Novels of the 19thCentury, 4 free-market capitalism, 440
Logistic regression, 305, 306 hegemonic bloc, 438
Logit model, 310, 329 higher education administrators and
Long Beach City College (LBCC), 480 policymakers, 439
586 Subject Index

Neoliberal discourse (cont.) human element, 517

higher education system, 440 human interactions, 512
internationalization discourse, 441 intersectionality, 528
“marketplace” higher education policies, knowledge production, 544
439 leaders and social scientists, 513
race-conscious policies, 441 leadership positions, 527
racial diversity, 439 methodological pathways, 508
social structures, 439 modern organization, 518
value-free capitalist system, 438 organizational behavior, 525
Network for Education and Academic Rights organizational culture theory, 541, 544
(NEAR), 265 organizational identity, 540
Nominal outcomes organizational members, 540
assumptions, 339, 340 organizational rules, 518
categorization, 338 organizational sagas, 541
multi-categorical outcomes, 338 organization’s structure and governance
multinomial logit regression, 338, 339 process, 520
multinomial models, 337 personal and structural racism, 544
ordinal regression, 338 post-colonial and decolonial, 516, 535, 536
predicted probabilities, 344, 345 post-colonial work, 535
Non-degree holders, 215 post-industrial economy, 540
Non-normality of errors, 325 post-secondary organizations, 537
Non-traditional identity status groups, 15 post-structuralism, 516, 543
reimagined renditions, 518
scientific management school, 518
O shared/distributed leadership, 520
Odds ratios (OR), 302–304, 310, 311 social justice and equity, 508
Office for Civil Rights (OCR), 299 socioeconomic development, 537
ologit command, 333 and thinking, 507
Ordinal logit, 334 top-down approaches, 518, 541
Ordinal outcomes Overdispersion, 349
assumptions, 332, 333
categorization, 330, 331
estimation techniques, 332 P
logit, 331 Part-time professional model, 250
probit modeling, 331 Pedagogical scholarship, 82–84, 87, 99, 111,
Ordinary least squares (OLS), 296, 322, 113, 115
356–358 Pedagogy, 486–488
Organizational behavior, 513, 524, 527, 530, Penn World Tables, 269
531, 547 Personal accounts of change, 84, 95, 109, 114
Organizational culture perspectives, 542 Personal narratives, 84, 85, 109, 114
Organizational culture theorists, 542 Personal reflection, 85, 89–91, 94, 101, 102,
Organizational theories, 507, 546 104, 105, 111, 112, 114
academic labor, 508 Placement, 473, 474, 478, 479
academic profession, 521 Pluralistic democratic education discourse
applications, 511 achievement of equity, 457
architecture, 540 critical analysis, 460
critical paradigm’s, 514 limitations, 456
cultural resource, 534 logic and evolution, 457–460
cultural traditions and norms, 512 Post-colonialism, 535
economic decision, 522 Post-modernism, 516
environmental perspectives, 535 Post-secondary admissions practice, 12, 51
environmental school, 513 Post-secondary education, 297, 505
higher education, 519 Post-secondary organizations, 529
Subject Index 587

Post-structuralism, 516, 544 Propensity score modeling, 210–212

Pre-college entrance inequality, 218 Propensity score weighting (PSW), 204
Pre-college socioeconomic inequality, 218–221 Proportional/fractional outcomes, 355, 356
Predict students’ initial sector of attendance, 213 Protective pyramid, 274
Predicted probabilities, 315, 327, 330 Purchasing power parity (PPP) index, 269
Predictive accuracy, 317–319 Purple Pamphlet, 148
Probabilities, 302, 304, 319
Probit, 321, 329
Probit regression, 320, 347, 360 Q
Production, 373, 374, 376, 382, 383, 388, 390, Quantitative analyses, 85
392 Quantway pathways, 488
Product-specific economies, 383, 384 Quasi-causal estimates, 214
Professoriate Quasi-experimental techniques, 199, 200
academic enterprise, 257 Queer theory, 131, 133, 144, 160, 168
academic freedom, 259–261
academic/professional schools, 242, 256
CAP project, 279, 280 R
career structures and roles, 271–279 Race-neutral alternatives, 32, 41, 49, 50
Carnegie project, 280 Racial equity
center and periphery concern, 251, 253 in access, 51
comparative inquiry, 240 convergence constriction, 43
competitiveness, 248 inclusion, 49
conceptual frameworks, 241, 258 inquiry, racial equity-minded, 62–64
convergence and differentiation, 254–255 and pluralism, 37
criticism and justice, 244 scholarship, racial equity-minded, 50
decline narratives, 257 strategic racial equity framework,
deprofessionalization, 249 60–62
disciple-apprentice relationships, 272 transformation, 13
education researchers, 247 Racial literacy, 60, 61
EUROAC, 279, 280 Receiver operator characteristic (ROC), 318
functions-approach, 244 Reforms to assessment
global institutionalization, 267 acceleration, 482–486
globalization, 263 compression, 482, 483
growth and accretion, 242, 256–259 customized exams, 478
higher education, 240 cutoff scores, 480, 481
international mobility, 270 developmental reform, 492
liberty and loyalty, 248 graduation rates, 492, 493
literature, 239 modularization, 483, 484
massification, 258 “multiple-measures” approaches,
occupation, 243 479, 480
organization, 239 placement exams, 478, 479
productive workforce, 243 planning and implementation, 491
scholastic freedom, 261 Regression discontinuity (RD), 471, 482
student enrollment, 248 Regression techniques, 348–351
students and scholars, 240 Reimagine scientific management, 520
study academics, 252 Relative risk ratios, 342, 343
systematic knowledge, 243 Reparative justice, 510, 536
teaching-research nexus, 245 Research advocacy, 14–17
teaching roles, 243 Research scholarship, 84, 85, 89, 91, 94, 99,
theoretic puzzles, 242 101, 102, 104, 105, 111–115
topical forays, 241 Rethinking Diversity Work, 529
United States, 256 Reverend William Smith of College,
values and beliefs, 253 Philadelphia, 537
Western Europe, 242 Risk ratios, 302, 304
588 Subject Index

S Smashing, 139
Safe spaces, 46, 52, 63 Social action systems, 82
Scholarship of integration, 84, 99, 113, 114 Social inequality, 181
Scholarship of teaching and learning (SOTL), Social justice and equity, 508
99–105 Social networks, 66
academic disciplines, 83, 84, 115 Social ties, 66
approaches, 109 Society for Homosexual Freedom (SHF), 162
Boyer’s prescription, 112 Socioeconomic inequality, 200, 204, 217, 218,
classification schema, 82, 84–86, 106, 109, 229
113, 114 S-shaped logit, 313
database, 87 Stakeholders, 248
definition, 81 Stata commands, 297
doctoral universities, 112 State-centered model, 250
goals, 81 State-level indicators, 214
implications, 83 Statway pathways, 488
institutional affiliation, 87, 95–99 Student activism, 506
instructional methods, 113, 115 Student Homophile League (SHL), 158
intellectual pattern, 84 Student Mobilization Committee, 161
inter-coder reliability, 87 Student organizations, 133, 158, 159, 162, 167
interrelated conclusions, 111 Sub-Saharan Africa in the 17thCentury, 4
limitations, 106–108 Survivor model, 273
macro-level attention, 82 SWOT analyses, 533
new teaching approach, 100, 108 System environments, 248
overarching conclusion, 113
pedagogical scholarship, 82, 83
personal reflection, 112 T
recommendations, 113, 114 Teaching Assistants Association (TAA), 8, 9
research scholarship, 111 Teaching Sociology, 83, 87–90, 93, 94, 98, 99,
social action system, 82 101, 103–107, 111, 112, 114, 115,
sociology, 83 117, 121, 123
stocktaking process, 83 Tennessee Valley Authority study, 534
student learning, 81 Tenure model, 273, 521
student perceptions, 84 Third World Transition Program (TWTP), 46
teaching-focused journals, 82, 83, 88, 106, Tobit regression, 358
109 Tokenism, 31, 52, 63
topical foci of articles Total cost function, 378
alterations made to a teaching approach, “Traditional” education approach, 469, 470
104, 105 Truncation, 358, 359
author-implemented practice, 101–104 Two-year enrollment
new teaching approach, 100, 101 Likelihood of Four-year Degree Attainment,
pedagogical practice, 99 187
research scholarship, 99 Students’ Occupational Outcomes, 191
teaching initiatives, 99 Two-year institutions, 398, 402, 405
type of analysis, 89–94
type of article, 88, 89
School characteristics, 299 U
Scientific management, 519, 524 Undergraduate loan cost of attendance (ULCA),
Second-wave reforms 177, 207–217
customized exams, 478 Underprepared Students, 471, 474, 494
multiple measures, 479, 480 University of Florida (UF), 160
placement exam, 478, 479 University of Kansas (KU), 163
The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944, U.S. higher education system, 175, 176, 179,
179 180, 507
Shared/distributed leadership, 520 U.S. International Competitiveness, 222
Subject Index 589

V Wisdom of Practice Literature, 84, 112

Value-neutral policies, 428 Women’s colleges, 136, 138, 140–143, 167
Variables, 300, 301 Women-serving institutions, 533
Worker cooperatives, 520

W
Wellesley marriages, 137, 140 Y
Western academics, 542 Young Socialist Alliance, 161
Western and English-speaking, 262
Western Interstate Commission for Higher
Education, 2014, 417, 420 Z
What Works Clearinghouse (WWC), 181 Zero-inflated negative binomial regressions,
White fragility, 46, 64 350
White innocence, 22, 24, 42, 46, 63 Zero-inflated poisson, 350
Contents of Previous Volumes

Volume XXVIII

You Don’t Have to Be the Smartest Person in the Room George D. Kuh, Indiana
University
Student Engagement: Bridging Research and Practice to Improve the Quality
of Undergraduate Education Alexander C. McCormick, Indiana University,
Jillian Kinzie, Indiana University and Robert M. Gonyea, Indiana University
From When and Where I Enter: Theoretical and Empirical Considerations of
Minority Students’ Transition to College Deborah Faye Carter, Claremont
Graduate University, Angela Mosi Locks, California State University and
Rachelle Winkle-Wagner, University of Wisconsin
Social Networks Research in Higher Education Susan Biancani, Stanford Uni-
versity and Daniel A. McFarland, Stanford University
Research Integrity and Misconduct in the Academic Profession Melissa
S. Anderson, University of Minnesota, Marta A. Shaw, University of Michigan,
Nicholas H. Steneck, University of Minnesota, Erin Konkle, University of Min-
nesota and Takehito Kamata, University of Minnesota
Instrumental Variables: Conceptual Issues and an Application Considering
High School Course Taking Rob M. Bielby, University of Michigan, Emily
House, University of Michigan, Allyson Flaster, University of Michigan and
Stephen L. DesJardins, University of Michigan
On the Meaning of Markets in Higher Education William E. Becker, Indiana
University and Robert K. Toutkoushian, University of Georgia
Learning Strategies, Study Skills, and Self-Regulated Learning in
Postsecondary Education Philip H. Winne, Simon Fraser University
The History and Historiography of Teacher Preparation in the United States: A
Synthesis, Analysis, and Potential Contributions to Higher Education His-
tory Christine A. Ogren, University of Iowa

© Springer International Publishing AG, part of Springer Nature 2018 591

M. B. Paulsen (ed.), Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research,
Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research 33,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-72490-4
592 Contents of Previous Volumes

A Review and Critique of the Literature on Community College Students’

Transition Processes and Outcomes in Four-Year Institutions Peter Riley
Bahr, University of Michigan, Christie Toth, University of Michigan, Kathryn
Thirolf, University of Michigan and Johanna C. Massé, University of Michigan
Public Policy and Higher Education Attainment in a Twenty-First-Century
Racial Demography: Examining Research from Early Childhood to the
Labor Market Stella M. Flores, Vanderbilt University and Leticia Oseguera,
The Pennsylvania State University, University Park
Advancing the Study of Student-Faculty Interaction: A Focus on Diverse
Students and Faculty Darnell Cole, University of Southern California and
Kimberly A. Griffin, University of Maryland
State Support of Higher Education: Data, Measures, Findings, and Directions
for Future Research David A. Tandberg, Florida State University and Casey
Griffith, Florida State University
Name and Subject Indexes
2013: 728 pages ISBN: 978-94-007-5835-3

Volume XXIX

The Complexity of Higher Education: A Career in Academics and Activism

Philip G. Altbach, Boston College
Advancing an Intersectionality Framework in Higher Education: Power and
Latino Postsecondary Opportunity Anne-Marie Núñez, University of Texas at
San Antonio
Student Veterans in Higher Education David T. Vacchi, University of Massachu-
setts Amherst and Joseph B. Berger, University of Massachusetts Amherst
The Changing Nature of Cultural Capital Jenna R. Sablan, University of Southern
California and William G. Tierney, University of Southern California
The Culturally Engaging Campus Environments (CECE) Model: A New The-
ory of Success Among Racially Diverse College Student Populations Samuel
D. Museus, University of Denver
Organizational Identity in Higher Education: Conceptual and Empirical Per-
spectives David J. Weerts, University of Minnesota, Gwendolyn H. Freed, Cor-
nish College of the Arts and Christopher C. Morphew, University of Iowa
Student Ratings of Instruction in College and University Courses Stephen
L. Benton, The IDEA Center and William E. Cashin, Kansas State University
College Enrollment: An Economic Analysis Leslie S. Stratton, Virginia Common-
wealth University
The Welding of Opposite Views: Land-Grant Historiography at 150 Years
Nathan M. Sorber, West Virginia University and Roger L. Geiger, The Pennsyl-
vania State University College of Education
The Completion Agenda: The Unintended Consequences for Equity in Com-
munity Colleges Jaime Lester, George Mason University
Contents of Previous Volumes 593

Using IPEDS for Panel Analyses: Core Concepts, Data Challenges, and Empir-
ical Applications Ozan Jaquette, University of Arizona and Edna E. Parra,
University of Arizona
Toward a Better Understanding of Equity in Higher Education Finance and
Policy Luciana Dar, University of California
Name and Subject Indexes 2014: 612 pages ISBN: 978-94-017-8004-9

Volume XXX

A Memoir of My Professional Life: What I Can Remember and What I Can

Tell Kenneth A. Feldman, Stony Brook University
A Model of Critical Thinking in Higher Education Martin Davies, University of
Melbourne
Unbundling the Faculty Role in Higher Education: Utilizing Historical, Theo-
retical, and Empirical Frameworks to Inform Future Research Sean Gehrke
and Adrianna Kezar, University of Southern California
Interest Groups and State Policy for Higher Education: New Conceptual
Understandings and Future Research Directions Erik C. Ness, University of
Georgia,David A. Tandberg, Florida State University, and Michael
K. McLendon, Southern Methodist University
Endurance Testing: Histories of Liberal Education in U.S. Higher Education
Katherine E. Chaddock and Anna Janosik Cooke, University of Southern
California
Promoting Effective Teaching and Learning in Higher Education Rodney
A. Clifton, Jeremy M. Hamm, and Patti C. Parker, University of Manitoba
Critical Advocacy Perspectives on Organization in Higher Education Penny
A. Pasque, University of Oklahoma and Rozana Carducci, Salem State University
Quantile Regression: Analyzing Changes in Distributions Instead of Means
Stephen R. Porter, North Carolina State University
Academic Capitalism and (Secondary) Academic Labor Markets: Negotiating
a New Academy and Research Agenda Gary Rhoades, University of Arizona
and Blanca M. Torres-Olave, Loyola University Chicago
Men of Color in Community Colleges: A Synthesis of Empirical Findings
J. Luke Wood, San Diego State University, Robert T. Palmer, State University
of New York and Frank Harris III, San Diego State University
Industry-Academia Linkages: Lessons from Empirical Studies and Recommen-
dations for Future Inquiry Pilar Mendoza, University of Missouri
Serving a Different Master: Assessing College Educational Quality for the
Public Corbin M. Campbell, Columbia University
Author and Subject Indexes
2015: 610 pages ISBN: 978-3-319-12835-1
594 Contents of Previous Volumes

Volume XXXI

Conceptualizing Innovation in Higher Education William G. Tierney, The Uni-

versity of Texas at Austin and Michael Lanford, University of Southern California
English Learners and Their Transition to Postsecondary Education Anne-
Marie Núñez, The University of Texas at San Antonio, Cecilia Rios-Aguilar,
University of California Los Angeles, Yasuko Kanno, Temple University and
Stella M. Flores, New York University
Students with Disabilities in Higher Education: A Review of the Literature and
an Agenda for Future Research Ezekiel W. Kimball,University of Massachu-
setts Amherst, Ryan S. Wells, University of Massachusetts Amherst, Benjamin
J. Ostiguy, University of Massachusetts Amherst, Catherine A. Manly, University
of Massachusetts Amherst and Alexandra A. Lauterbach, University of Massa-
chusetts Amherst
A Historiography of Academic Freedom for American Faculty, 1865–1941
Timothy Reese Cain, University of Georgia
Community College Workforce Development in the Student Success Era Mark
M. D’Amico, The University of North Carolina at Charlotte
Organizational Learning in Higher Education Institutions: Theories, Frame-
works, and a Potential Research Agenda Jay R. Dee, University of Massachu-
setts Boston and Liudvika Leišytė, Technical University Dortmund
The Cost of Producing Higher Education: An Exploration of Theory, Evidence,
and Institutional Policy John J. Cheslock, Pennsylvania State University, Justin
C. Ortagus, University of Florida, Mark R. Umbricht, Pennsylvania State Uni-
versity and Josh Wymore, Spring Arbor University
Universities as Anchor Institutions: Economic and Social Potential for Urban
Development Michael Harris, Southern Methodist University and Karri Holley,
The University of Alabama
Examining Production Efficiency in Higher Education: The Utility of Stochas-
tic Frontier Analysis Marvin A. Titus, University of Maryland and Kevin Eagan,
UCLA
Learning Through Group Work in the College Classroom: Evaluating the
Evidence from an Instructional Goal Perspective Marilla D. Svinicki, The
University of Texas at Austin and Diane L. Schallert, The University of Texas at
Austin
Understanding Grit in the Context of Higher Education Daniel J. Almeida,
University of Southern California
Author and Subject Indexes
2016: 657 pages ISBN: 978-3-319-26828-6
Contents of Previous Volumes 595

Volume XXXII

The Privileged Journey of Scholarship and Practice Daryl G. Smith

Do Diversity Courses Make a Difference? A Critical Examination of College
Diversity Coursework and Student Outcomes Nida Denson and Nicholas
A. Bowman
The Impact of College Students’ Interactions with Faculty: A Review of Gen-
eral and Conditional Effects Young K. Kim and Linda J. Sax
Finding Conceptual Coherence: Trends and Alignment in the Scholarship on
Noncognitive Skills and Their Role in College Success and Career Readiness
Heather T. Rowan-Kenyon, Mandy Savitz-Romer, Maya Weilundemo Ott, Amy
K. Swan, and Pei Pei Liu
Philanthropic Foundations’ Social Agendas and the Field of Higher Education
Cassie L. Barnhardt
Toward a Holistic Theoretical Model of Momentum for Community College
Student Success Xueli Wang
Conceptualizing State Policy Adoption and Diffusion James C. Hearn, Michael
K. McLendon, and Kristen C. Linthicum
Expanding Conceptualizations of Work/Life in Higher Education: Looking
Outside the Academy to Develop a Better Understanding Within Margaret
Sallee and Jaime Lester
A Historiography of College Students 30 Years After Helen Horowitz’sCampus
Life Michael S. Hevel
Peer Review: From “Sacred Ideals” to “Profane Realities” David R. Johnson and
Joseph C. Hermanowicz
Geospatial Analysis in Higher Education Research Nicholas W. Hillman
Towards a New Understanding of Labor Market Alignment Jennifer Lenahan
Cleary, Monica Reid Kerrigan, and Michelle Van Noy
Author Index
Subject Index
Contents of Previous Volumes