Doctor-ing

This morning I got to indulge in one of the very best parts of my profession: chairing the successful dissertation defense. My student (former student now), CL, flew in from Kansas late last night. She met with me and three other professors in our School's conference room, where we discussed and critiqued her dissertation.

I've been chair, member, and/or dean's rep for many a defense. My first time chairing one, over ten years ago now, went badly. The student had to re-do her defense, cancelling all the celebrations she had planned. It's made be awfully gun shy about these things since then.

Seasoned professor that I am now (lol), I now recognize the kind of things to watch out for as chair. That doesn't mean I still don't get nervous before a defense. No matter how well-prepared you think the student's document is, the final say is up to the people in the room. You know your colleagues from the program. You sometimes know the student's minor professor. The wild card is often the "dean's representative," the sorta randomly assigned professor who's there essentially to make sure no money or threats get exchanged.

Occasionally, someone on the panel has a significant issue with something about the dissertation. Usually--at least for the dissertations I've chaired--the issue relates to some deep, tectonic difference about what scholarship is. Different academic fields construct and pursue knowledge differently. One field's careful ethnographic participant-observer account is another field's shoddy memoir. We disagree, we scholars, about what constitutes rigor now and then.

I have on occasion been that dean's rep in the room that raises a gripe about the material on display. I recall one such diss in another humanities field that to my eyes simply lacked even the barest coherence. I called for the defense to be postponed. It was not. The student's family came. The defense ended in a fail/retake. Ugly stuff.

I've also chaired defenses where, although I'd gotten the student and their document as far as I felt they could go, I still wondered nervously about whether the event would end in tears of joy or tears of sorrow. Sometimes I (and the student) have been very lucky.

Today's diss, however, was solid. Though nervous as always, I had few rational fears of roadblocks. Indeed, the defense today drifted close to what my own co-chair told my visiting parents defenses should be like: a celebration of your work. I think conversation about rather than celebration of is closer to the goal. But it was a good, stimulating conversation nonetheless. CL knows her stuff. Her project is exciting, her writing meticulous and well-edited.

We talked, and then as is customary, we asked CL to step out. Always a hard moment for the student (I remember that moment well for me), this passage of the defense is where the committee essentially gives the thumbs-up/thumbs-down on the project as a whole. Has the student passed the defense? If not, what if anything might the student do to improve, re-write, or move forward? (Rarely are failed defenses an endpoint.) The conversation can be tense, long, and the student waiting outside wonders just what's being discussed, her fate entirely out of her hands.

Today, our conversation concluded quickly. I opened the door and said one of my favorite things: "Congratulations, Dr. CL."

It's a performative utterance. By calling her doctor, I thereby transformed her status from student to peer.

I mean, technically there's paperwork and finally graduation this December. There's another performative act at that occasion, as I put the hood around her. But by long tradition, CL is "Doctor" as of the moment we declare her passed. CL, PhD.

I harbor loads of suspicions and pessimisms about the wisdom and workability of doctoral degrees in Theatre. But I also know that the title represents a real accomplishment. It signifies an immense amount of work, a passage through multiple trials. It's a badge of honor.

And it was my honor to confer it on such a deserving peer.

Congratulations, Doctor CL.

JF