In between musings
Jul 12, 2023
July 2023
Periodically I ask of myself: who is Margo Hendricks, Professor of Shakespeare and Early Modern literary and cultural studies? The asking inevitably invites reflection, and reflection constitutes memories.
I’ve gestured toward my complex relationship with academic life: the trials to get where I am—an elder in my field, part of a generation of Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Asian early modernist struggling to find not just an entrance but a space free of isolation, a community where being a Black woman wasn’t a liability or an ally’s “badge of honor”. I was told I wasn’t a good fit for an academic career. Often reminded I’d somehow entered the wrong room (Renaissance English literature instead of African American/Black Studies). Resisted the “know your place” moments as much as possible and yet, in 2009 I made the decision to retire from the University of California, Santa Cruz.
Why? For a number of my colleagues I was not a “Shakespearean.” Thus, when it came time to fill a vacancy the discourse was “we need a Shakespeare scholar.” When reviewed for promotion to full professor, I was denied despite strong external letters in favor (UC does allow one to view the redacted copy of each letter). Written comments from student evaluations (remember UCSC has always been a predominately white institution) were culled to prove the inadequacy of my teaching. I challenged and the decision was reversed. I was promoted but was penalized in salary. Not, however, before the mental and physical damage was done.
I retired with less than my full monthly salary and less than 100% medical benefits. From my retirement benefit, I pay nearly five hundred a month for medical insurance (mostly for my daughter who is under 26) despite the university’s contribution. My benefit receives a cost of living and I still haven’t reached the monthly amount I earned before I retired.
Understand, my situation is not unusual for those who seek well-being over career. We walk away to preserve our lives, our mental health, our families, ourselves. I remind myself that my ancestors did not struggle to survive for me to forget the lessons, the strength, and the necessary actions they undertook to make sure I was born. I remind myself that white supremacy is fed by white privilege. That white privilege often hides behind a cloak of allyship (it’s why I have accomplices, ride or die, not allies) until a Shakespeare scholar is needed.
For those who walk away, or retire, the financial burden doesn’t diminish—it only increases. And, like so many others (regardless of color, gender, sexuality), I hid behind respectability politics based on what I’d achieved. On what appearance I should project. To not ask for assistance, to suffer in silence (because it’s what capitalist morality often demands of us), to ignore the precarity that shrouds our everyday existence: Inflation. Medical costs. Housing instability. We make them invisible but every day they tear at the infrastructure of our well-being.
If I practice my Shakespeare career, I usually pay the majority cost to attend conferences. Invitations to speak often come with lodging, travel, and a honorarium; although some offer reimbursements and these are institutions that have few endowments and have a large number of marginalized students (although, institutional funding has begun to chip away at this). I’m also a self-supporting Indie writer.
If you’re reading this musing and see it as a plea for financial support—it is. If you’d like to help (emergency auto repairs): PayPal (mj26hen@gmail.com); Venmo or CashApp (Margo Hendricks); Ko-fi (Elysabeth Grace).
To end: This is a personal musing and it pushes my innate boundaries so I’ll just say, thank you for subscribing. It means a great deal to me that you find something of interest in MargoH’s Musings. I promise the next one will be lighter since its focus is romance.
Margo
© 2024 Margo Hendricks
