Safety in the Neoliberal Institution by Julian Lambriex

“What happens when we try to do things differently and when we actually do

writing that does not separate out experiences, subjectivities, genres?”

Stephen Ball writes that "at its most visceral and intimate, neo-liberalism involves the transformation of social relations and practices into calculabilities and exchanges, that is into the market form – with the effect of commodifying educational practice and experience.” Although the commodification of the educational sector is old news, I was struck by how deeply entrenched the role of students as human capital and consumers is in most neoliberal educational institutions I have encountered. 

“I did not get the memo that an institution can be a safe place.” This quote from a class reading encouraged me to contemplate. Of all the thoughts the sentence provoked, one stuck with me: Why don’t I feel unsafe in institutions? Why do I feel so comfortable being directed as a consumer to enhance my market value as a student? While privilege has certainly contributed to my sense of safety, so has the Dutch educational system. Attending a gymnasium in Amsterdam, where all students must learn Latin and ancient Greek, my school promoted a traditional, rigorous academic environment. Except for the occasional written assignment, students are tested by memorizing facts, texts, and formulas. As an impressionable 12-year-old, I internalized the methodology and quickly grew fond of the system. A teacher told me what I needed to know, I made sure I knew, and I received a good grade. 

I was perplexed by classmates failing classes such as French, English, or German. The teacher assigned us 100 words to memorize: why did they not just memorize them? Inclined to memorize easily, I felt appreciated and seen at my high school. However, largely due to my experiences at UCU, I’ve now come to understand that knowing, learning, and understanding are not as binary as they were presented to me then. Looking back, the impact this system had on my approach to studying, grades, and learning in general has sunk in. 

The exclusion of experience, subjectivity, and genre from learning was evident. The complete separation of the personal from the academic seeped into my studying habits. Studying became an economic activity for me. It became something to do productively. If, while studying for a politics exam, I began to wonder which ideology resonated most with me, I was being “unproductive” and forced myself to redirect my attention to what mattered: the content of my exam. In high school, I felt like a consumer. The impersonal, detached approach to learning transformed knowledge into a currency that could buy me good grades, proud parents, and appreciative teachers. It also made me feel safe. If I stayed ahead, the institution would listen to me and pay attention to me. It made me feel safe to be considered an asset. 

At the same time, however, by teaching myself how to fit my high school’s idea of a good student, I internalized this economic, objective perception of what it is to know. Now I realize how differently other students must have experienced this approach. I remember students scared that content they had never heard of would suddenly appear on our test. They were scared the teacher would betray them and make the test more difficult than it should be. Those classmates might have been excited by methods of learning that didn’t involve memorizing information and reproducing it on a sheet of paper. But at school, that was what it meant to know.

Knowing or memorizing well culminated in good grades. By grading knowledge of history, music, or art on a literal scale, my comprehension of what it meant to be good at these things was (and, in a way, still is) skewed. Although I have grown to understand knowledge and learning as something not inherently scorable (or, even less so, quantifiable), this view of learning has persisted in my subconscious. 

It’s evident in almost everything I do. By making me feel knowledgeable about everything I achieved a good grade for, my school made me feel unknowledgeable about everything I achieved a bad grade for. That fear of failing, of not knowing enough, caused me and other students in my class to naturally turn away from subjects that didn’t instantly produce satisfactory results.

Academically, I sometimes feel less safe at UCU than I did in high school. I can’t fall back on my ability to memorize historical dates, formulas, or Latin words. However, I feel that what I do learn is mine, and I don’t have to erase my personality from my knowledge. And in that way, over the past three years, UCU helped me discover what it means for me to know.