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In devaluing rural identities and language, higher ed alienates rural communities, Samantha Nousak and Sarah D. C. Harvey write.
I—Samantha—vividly remember one of my first appointments as a writing consultant, where a scene played out that would repeat itself weekly in the years I worked there. A student brought in a rough draft of an argumentative essay and, as I skimmed for what needed to be worked on, I said, “Oh, hey, just so you know, you’ll have to take out all these contractions later.”
The student—a young Black man—tilted his head in confusion. “Why?”
“It’s not ‘proper’ English. You hafta write like your professors talk—like, it’s gotta sound fancy and detached, like an academic book.”
“Huh? But I thought it was most important to be clear, an’ I have a hard time understanding people who talk like that.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied, “That ain’t how I talk, either. But it’s somethin’ you’ve gotta mimic to earn good grades. Basically, you’ve gotta write like a rich white guy.”
“Code-switching” refers to when someone switches between dialects (or languages) to facilitate communication. In the sociology of education, a well-researched form of dialect code-switching is when Black students must switch between African American Vernacular English (AAVE) and so-called mainstream American English. Mainstream American English is, of course, white English. However, it’s a specific kind of white English. The ideal English in schools is one with certain rules baked into it, like using “proper” contractions (e.g., “isn’t” instead of “ain’t”) and pronouncing all the syllables in a word (e.g., “really cool” instead of “real cool”). Essentially, it’s a specific, racially coded class dialect.
Sarah and I are both particularly sensitive to that class connotation. We have mutually followed an uncommon path, from small towns in the rural Midwest into classical music (voice and piccolo, respectively), and then into academia. It is on this common path that we’ve both felt the social pressure to “talk proper”—or, should I say, “speak properly”—beaten into us. While we are both white, our natural ruralisms require that we code-switch, too. We must abandon both any lingering accent (Southern, Appalachian and rural accents in general are viewed as less intelligent and unprofessional, no matter what words you use) and the phrasings that feel most natural to us in the name of blending in. While not identical to the unique Black experience, the concept of code-switching can still be usefully applied to other socially devalued identities and language, such as ruralisms, in the academy.
Rural stereotypes of being uneducated, backward, uncultured and unintelligent are inherently at odds with an academic identity. This creates an obvious dilemma for rural academics, who must either constantly defend their qualifications or just try to blend in—meaning they must code-switch. For example, both Sarah and I have changed how we speak, dropping phrases like “how’s come” and carefully enunciating the syllables of every word. We’ve also both had experiences where we downplayed practical knowledge around tools, cars or home repair. That hands-on knowledge flagged us as different, culminating most notably in a fellow academic asking if Sarah was “a tradesperson” for owning and knowing how to use a tool kit. Even successful code-switching creates problems, though. When we do pass, our coworkers may begin to openly bemoan the “idiocy” of rural Americans without pausing to consider that their coworker may be from a rural area. The implication is clear: people like us are not native to this environment, and we must apologize for and rise above our “humble” origins to fit in.
There are costs to engaging in this kind of code-switching. For some Black Americans, being forced to learn mainstream English at school leads to them looking down on AAVE. The same can be said for many rural academics, who learn to view their old dialect and homes as unrefined and inferior. Being unable to speak naturally at school also harms students’ sense of belonging, makes them vulnerable to stereotype threat and plays into impostor syndrome, a rampant problem for many academics who feel they are not actually good or smart enough for their position. Then, when at home, we become marked as others if we cannot code-switch back to our rural dialects effectively enough.
However, it is not just rural (or formerly rural) academics who suffer the consequences of being forced to code-switch. It is important to consider how all rural Americans are alienated when rural knowledge, intelligence and language are devalued. Skepticism toward intellectuals is widespread in rural, blue-collar America, and it does not encourage bread breaking when academics treat rural language as inferior. How are we to bridge the gaps between “real-world” knowledge and the importance of research when we refuse to listen to rural language without scoffing? How can we effectively communicate when we insist on speaking so pompously, flexing our vocabulary and class with every sentence, rather than focusing on comprehensibility?
As the academy continues to struggle with making diverse voices feel like they belong, we need to have a real, honest conversation about how we demand everyone talk. Being informed and intelligent are not attributes at odds with rural identities, yet the language we’re all forced to use perpetuates that stereotype. Not only does this alienate academics from rural areas, but, more importantly, it alienates most of the country from the academy. It is time we stop worrying about contractions and start focusing on actually communicating effectively to all, allowing rural and academic codes to mesh together into a more natural dialect for all involved.
Samantha Nousak is a postdoctoral research scholar in health policy and management at Kent State University. Sarah D. C. Harvey is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Sociology and Criminology at Kent State University.
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We’ve been asked by many colleagues on our campuses about the potential impact of recent Department of Education announcements concerning incentive compensation on bundled services (revenue share) and third-party servicers. Since any associated policy changes could affect a much wider set of services than originally expected, we thought we’d use this space to share what we think are the key points that university leaders across higher education need to understand about the potential impact of recent and anticipated actions by the federal government.
So, where should one begin to get a handle on what’s happening? The key documents worth reviewing include:
The ostensible purpose of the ED guidance is to provide oversight of services such as “student recruiting and retention, the provision of software products and services involving Title IV administration activities, and the provision of educational content and instruction.” In particular, the ED is concerned that a “growing industry has developed to provide one or more of these services as a means of transitioning academic programs into a distance education format and expanding enrollment. Companies providing such services are sometimes referred to as ‘online program managers,’ or OPMs.” These bundled services are often provided in revenue sharing agreements between institutions and OPMs.
The revenue share agreements are, in fact, one of the primary targets of the new guidance. Currently, OPMs enjoy an exception to a ban on giving “commission[s] or bonuses to individuals or entities based on securing enrollment or financial aid.” The ED is considering removing, or at least creating additional safeguards for, the exception to the ban that enables revenue sharing with third parties (i.e., OPMs) engaged in marketing and recruitment activities as part of a “bundle of services.”
While many consider it unlikely that the ED will decide to end the exemption—and therefore bring all revenue-sharing agreements out of compliance—it is possible that reporting requirements will become significantly more stringent around learner outcomes and costs. At a minimum, institutions should begin to prepare for a significant increase in reporting requirements.
Still, if the bundled service exemption for revenue share arrangements with OPMs for online programs should completely go away (a result we think is at least worth planning for), contracts with OPMs will need to be renegotiated—a not insignificant task.
Either way, the risk to for-profit companies in the online learning space is high. Many of these companies have built their foundation on revenue share contracts. Since many institutions have their financial and strategic investments tied up with OPMs, changes to terms and expectations could have far-reaching implications for financial and operational planning around online programs.
The ultimate effects of the guidance on new and existing revenue sharing models may be considerable—and potentially to the good—but if the latest guidance is implemented, it also has the potential to broaden the scope of federal oversight of TPS at institutions beyond OPM partnerships, potentially impacting everything from dual enrollment programs to student information systems to study abroad.
What this means is that the latest guidance potentially goes beyond areas of university/company OPM contracts to include any product or service necessary for the delivery of Title IV–eligible educational programs. Oversight of OPMs is potentially a good thing, even for the OPMs themselves.
Why is this different? Previously, federal oversight guidance extended only to third-party servicers involved in the direct administration of financial aid for Title IV–eligible programs. The Feb. 15 Dear Colleague letter from ED added a new area of oversight for contracts related to any aspect of the delivery of Title IV–eligible programs. As Phil Hill explains in his must-read “Phil on EdTech” newsletter,
Now programs refer not just to financial aid programs (e.g., Stafford loans) but also to educational programs (e.g., online MBA), an entirely different beast. This phrase has never been in previous ED guidance, and with it, ED now includes learning management, instruction, student retention, basically anything that ED wants to consider as necessary for that educational program.
Minimally, this increased scope could increase the burden placed on institutions with regard to the reporting and management of associated contracts. At the same time, it could prove challenging to identify all impacted partnerships without significant coordination across units. We think it’s crucial that all institutions understand and prepare to be responsive to the guidance offered by ED.
As our current understanding of exactly how reporting and compliance requirements might change between now and the proposed implementation on Sept. 1, 2023, it’s important for universities to begin to think about the potential changes they will need to make to their infrastructure to manage these possible changes.
To get feedback before Sept. 1, the ED has just concluded public listening sessions and is currently accepting comments that address the following nine questions (quoted directly from ED letter):
The above nine questions should also be considered indications of how seriously the department will be examining the current bundled services exemption.
The ED’s timeline for the public comment period “to improve guidance on the incentive compensation prohibition” is tight. It included listening sessions that were held last week (March 8 and 9) and now a request for written comments to be submitted via the Federal eRulemaking portal, due by March 16. (Note: the deadline for public comment on third-party servicers guidance is March 29).
However this ultimately plays out, colleges and universities should be thinking now about how to engage in careful, deliberate, and robust planning around the shifting regulatory environment involving both revenue-share arrangements and third-party servicers. Those who have seen online learning as a discrete service rather than a core capacity may find themselves struggling to be as agile and strategic as they will need to be with these upcoming changes.
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