When asked what I actually do (or did for 45 years) as a professor, I usually respond that about half of my time was spent on teaching and other half was doing research and writing papers. This division was not equal every day. Some terms, I was overwhelmed with classroom teaching (including preparation, meeting with students, grading papers, etc.) and graduate student supervision, but not every term was the same. During summers, I worked almost exclusively on research and writing papers.
This account, however, ignores the reality that I spent a lot of time on administrative work and what is called “professional service.” Academic communities, especially in major American research universities, are largely run by collective decision making and “peer review.” Day to day management of departments and research units are usually handled by faculty members who rotate through leadership roles (3 to 5-year terms are typical for chairs and directors), and there is considerable delegation of responsibilities to committees, which prepare extensive written reports on most issues, including curriculum, graduate student admissions, faculty appointments, and promotions. Committee reports are reviewed and debated at faculty meetings before voting on recommendations. This model of collective governance is sometimes inefficient and extremely time consuming, but in my experience, it reinforces meritocratic principles and is fairer and more reasoned than the system in most organizations where all decisions are made by managers and high-level administrators.
In most years, I served on one or more standing or ad hoc departmental committees (graduate student admissions, curriculum, hiring, promotion, etc.) as well as occasional college and university wide committees (often as the chair), for example, to study/advise/reform policies on faculty salaries, adjudication (resolution of disputes), scientific misconduct, enrollment planning, retirement policies, and many other issues. Ad hoc university committees to recommend candidates for administrative positions or to review the quality of departments/schools are time-intensive that may span weeks or months and prepare lengthy reports. I served on about every university committee imaginable, especially during the 30 years at the University of Washington (1987-2017), probably because I was frequently asked and almost invariably agreed to serve. I like to think that I had a reputation for thoughtful and thorough study, fairness, and working well with others.
Committee service was not limited to serving just one’s home institution, but also to provide advice to other universities and institutions that contribute to the collective good. In most years, I was asked to write several confidential letters of evaluation of faculty members being considered for promotion at other universities and institutions. It usually took several days for me to read a thick file of the candidate’s publications and write a thorough evaluation. In addition to personnel reviews, there were routine evaluations of papers from journals, book manuscripts from publishers, and grant applications from funding agencies. Each review took several hours and most of them were anonymous. In most cases, I did not know the identity of the author, and the author does not know the identity of those who write peer reviews. I took these reviews very seriously and spent a lot of time on them because I knew that my evaluations could affect someone’s career. I also felt a sense of responsibility because my papers and grant proposals had benefited from anonymous reviews. Criticisms of one’s work in anonymous reviews often sting, but this was more than counterbalanced by the identification of errors and weaknesses that I could correct. Not every “blind” review is helpful, but many are. In addition to ad hoc reviewing for journals, publishers, funding agencies, and universities, I have served on more than a dozen editorial boards of journals (in demography, sociology, area studies), including a few stints as a deputy editor.
Early in my career as an assistant professor at Duke, I recall a distinguished visiting scholar gave a talk on how to make an academic career, and he said something to the effect that one should not automatically reject invitations to serve on national committees and review boards. He observed that these roles are not only important contributions but often provide important and rewarding personal experiences. This point, offered as an aside in otherwise unmemorable talk, stuck with me. Over the decades, I have served on numerous review committees for major funding agencies, including the National Science Foundation, the National Institutes of Health, the Fulbright Program, and several foundations. Initially, I felt a moral obligation to serve these very time-intensive review committees because I had received research and fellowship support from these programs. But the experiences of serving on review committees also taught me how to write better grant applications. I also enjoyed getting to know fellow panel members—all top researchers from other institutions—and matching wits with them as we discussed and debated grant applications from the many of the leading scholars in academia. The foundations and funding agencies were very careful to avoid conflicts of interest and to ensure the confidentiality of the process, but we all knew that those who apply for grants and those who review grants are drawn from the small pool. Next year, one’s grant application may be reviewed by the person whose grant application you reviewed today, or by the person sitting next to you at the prior meeting. You may never know which person reviewed which proposal, but the peer review system generally kept everyone on their toes.
I also served on interdisciplinary advisory committees designed to further knowledge, advance education, and to provide guidance for research organizations, such as the ICPSR Council (Inter-University Consortium for Political and Social Research) at the University of Michigan, the Population Reference Bureau in Washington, DC., and IPUMS (Integrated Public Use Microdata Series) International Advisory Board at the University of Minnesota, the Russell Sage Foundation in New York City, and several others. I had a decade-long experience serving on several committees of the Social Science Research Council—a leading interdisciplinary non-governmental organization in New York City. Part of my connection to the SSRC was my specialization in Southeast Asian studies. In addition to serving on the SSRC Southeast Asia area studies committee, I have a long involvement in a program that encouraged graduate students in the quantitative social sciences (sociology, economics, and other fields) to acquire area studies expertise through language study (especially less commonly taught languages), culture, and history. For many years, I also served on SSRC initiatives to support social science research and training in Vietnam, including teaching workshops in HaNoi and Ho Chi Minh City. I also chaired a SSRC committee on International Migration that sponsored conferences, predoctoral and postdoctoral training, and publications.
I also had a long involvement with the National Research Council, which is the research arm of the National Academy of Sciences. In the 1990s, I was a member of the NAS panel that wrote a major report on immigration the United States (The New Americans: Economic, Demographic, and Fiscal Effects of Immigration, 1997). About a decade later, as a member of the standing NAS Committee on Population, I helped to formulate proposals that led to two additional NAS studies of immigration—The Integration of Immigrants into American Society (2015) and The Economic and Fiscal Consequences of Immigration (2017) and served as a member of both panels. I like to think that the NAS reports (and the SSSRC committee publications) helped to inform public understanding that immigration has many long term positive social and economic benefits to American society in addition to some short-term costs.
Many years ago, Cliff Clogg, an eminent sociologist and statistician, called to ask for my support in his nomination of a mutual friend for recognition of distinguished scholarship. Knowing how much work this task involved, I asked Cliff if he was doing this as part a committee assignment. Cliff just laughed and explained that he routinely nominated colleagues for recognition because it was right thing to do. If we have had the good luck to be successful, it was our obligation to make sure that other meritorious colleagues also receive recognition. Cliff was a mensch, and an example that I have sought to emulate as my career progressed.
During the first twenty years or so of my career, I climbed the ranks of academia, but just barely. After 6 years as an assistant professor at Duke, I was promoted to the next rank and earned tenure, but it was a close call. I had a respectable publication record and was offered positions at Cornell and the University of Washington. I felt very lucky (and somewhat surprised) with my modest “success” and didn’t expect anything more. I had not been elected to any office, received any awards, and had no illusions that my very good career could get any better. Then, gradually in the 1990s, I seem to land on the “list” that led to getting on other “lists” of career recognition far beyond anything I imagined–-serving on national committees, being elected to offices in professional organizations, and being asked if I would be interested in positions at other universities or organizations. It has been quite a ride, although I often felt that I really didn’t merit my success. Cliff Clogg’s reminder that success brings an obligation to advance others has helped me to resolve my ambivalence. Whenever I have had the opportunity to nominate deserving colleagues for membership in an honorific society, an award, or anything else, I make time to do so. Most of the time, my letters and nominations are anonymous, but then I do not know who nominated me for all the recognitions that I have received. Gratitude can rarely be repaid, but it can always be passed along.