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Almost a year has passed since emotions flared over the Gregg Camfield tenure controversy. While we had reason to celebrate the fact that student support was instrumental in procuring a second chance for Camfield, the ultimate results left those involved with a defeated sense of frustration. Ever since last year's bout with the tenure bureaucracy, a pervasive cynicism surrounding the perceived emphasis on faculty research has hung over our campus. A satire bemoaning the tenure evaluation process appeared in the DP as recently as last week. Last month I participated in a historical conference commemorating 20 years since the inauguration of Jimmy Carter which allowed me to view our cynicism in an entirely new light. When I tell people about the conference, I usually get a response like, "20 years since Jimmy Carter? I feel so old!" Whether or not we're ready to take a serious look back, the time has come to begin the in-depth historical analysis of a decade we'd rather forget. Because I'm working on an independent research project focusing on the '76 presidential campaign, I figured the conference would offer me a tremendous opportunity to procure advice from prominent historians, while gaining a sense of context for my research. Even if I had only achieved those goals, I would have considered my trip a success. However, I will remember the weekend more for the intriguing perspective it provided me on the remarkable nature of academia. The highlight of the conference was not the presentation of manuscripts, but rather the provocative discussions that followed each one. These professors were, by no means, just scratching each others backs. To say they were offering constructive criticism would be a euphemistic understatement. We've all joked about the sea of red ink that tends to accompany the grades on our papers, but I truly fear the day one of my professors lets loose with the type of comments I heard. Don't let me mislead you; even though our esteemed faculty members have been known to bicker childishly over access to the Xerox machines, they conducted themselves in a well-mannered, noble pursuit for improvement. More striking than the content of the comments, however, was the apparent notion that the writers seemed to delight in being shown the shortcomings of their work. It wasn't until the last panel discussion, when the designated commentator was offering her laundry list of apparent deficiencies in the panel's papers, that I realized the true purpose of the scholarly gathering. The fact we were ultimately involved in establishing a framework though which Carter's presidency will be studied, was largely inconsequential. (It's actually possible to look beyond the simple assertions of mediocrity and failure!) Those who came to present their work primarily came to soak up the red ink. Research, presentation and criticism are the means by which our professors acquire new ideas to inform their lecture materials. Unless we're ready to admit that every discipline has been studied to its fullest, unalterable truth, we can't underestimate the value of publication-driven research. Not long ago, we were all deciding where we wanted to go to college. In choosing Penn, we passed up trade schools and small colleges alike. Inherent in that decision was our desire to learn through investigation -- to begin with the assumption there's always another side to the story. In short, we chose to come to a large research University. With that choice comes not only the blessing of tremendous resources but the responsibility to use them. If we insist on criticizing our professors efforts towards publication, then we risk wasting the vast resources for which we have so much pride. As students, we are expected to be vigilant in taking advantage of all Penn has to offer. Should we expect any less from our faculty? I am not suggesting we give our professors the license to ignore their teaching responsibilities -- no one would argue that teaching is insignificant. If it seems as though the University values professors who publish more than those who teach, the motivating forces are definitely not fame and fortune. Otherwise, we'd insist our faculty members should write trash novels, like those of John Grisham and Danielle Steele. The cynicism surrounding the tenure process stems from an unfortunate lack of common interest. Perhaps we feel alienated because faculty research is done behind the scenes, without undergraduate interaction. While we cannot expect to be included in the process at all times, at the very least, we can begin to show an interest in what our professors do outside the classroom. I don't know of any faculty member who would refuse to explain his or her research. Have we even asked? If faculty members are not accustomed to presenting their research to undergraduates, then it is up to us to establish a forum conducive to that end. Rumor has it that academic types have an affinity for brown-bag lunch discussions. Besides, everyone has to eat. Instead of complaining about such matters, it is imperative we view faculty research as a mutually beneficial and thus valuable mechanism in a university such as Penn.

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