Emotional-Labor

As racial and economic disparities both within and outside of the Columbia community continue to be exacerbated by the worsening public health crisis, the tuition strike has gained considerable traction, even capturing the attention of national news outlets. The demands being made of the University are comprehensive, such as a 10 percent reduction in the cost of attendance, more satisfactorily meeting its obligations to the West Harlem community, and more widespread recognition of student workers. These demands have found widespread support in the University with nearly 2,000 students already pledging support, myself included.

Citing wages below area standards, insufficient health benefits, and the University’s refusal to participate in state apprenticeship programs, the New York City District Council of Carpenters has taken up in protest against Columbia to demand fair labor practices for nonunionized construction workers on a Manhattanville dormitory.

“Venmo me for my emotional labor” reveals that the cult of individualism and the commodification of empathy are rampant on our campus. Research shows how children from suburban high schools are conditioned to view every social interaction as a transaction. In this frame of mind, every conversation, text, cup of coffee, and like on social media is supposed to manifest itself in the initiator’s securement of an acceptance letter, job offer, sexual gratification, monetary gain, social capital, etc. One is then forced to approach every interaction with the question: How can this person advance my status? Empathy for the sake of human connection is completely out of the question.

Ping. My phone screen illuminated, informing me of a new notification. I’d thrown it to the foot of my bed in an attempt to focus on my task at hand: completing a close reading of some text for some literature class.

This time last year, I was Not Happy. I ended up taking the following semester (fall 2018) off for medical leave. It’s something that I still have a hard time talking about comfortably, and it was an abysmal process at best, but the results of that process included a beautiful service dog in training, a career-furthering internship, and one (1) mentally stable human being. I’m three times the person I was a year ago at least, but back on campus I’m reminded of what led me to leave in the first place.

Until last week, Valerie Adams had never been back inside a building she had built. “I’ve always driven by,” she says, as we stand outside the glossy glass doors of the Lenfest Center for the Arts. Completed in 2017 as the second building at Columbia’s new Manhattanville campus, the building today houses an art gallery and performance spaces. It would be easy to walk in and see it for its intended purpose and nothing more: a space for the arts, culture, and academia.

For months, much has been written in the pages of Spectator about efforts to unionize Columbia’s student teaching and research assistants. Union organizers have energetically exercised their right to communicate their views to our campus community. Similarly, the University has expressed its reasons for opposing the effort, often through letters I periodically have sent to our students, faculty, and staff.

If you’ve taken a math class at Columbia, chances are you’re familiar with the wall of mailboxes in Mathematics Hall. They serve as conduits, as a communication system between two distinct but mutually dependent parts of the University: the doers and the graders of homework.

Entering Columbia University, I knew that I would have to partake in the Core Curriculum. I did not realize that in addition to mandatory coursework and rigorous academics, I would frequently be required to offer my existence and knowledge as learning tools, let others challenge the fabric of my humanity, and allow my peers to use my emotional vulnerabilities for the greater sake of education and awareness. I am never thanked for my emotional expenditures, but I am always left feeling as if I’ve made a slight impact on my counterparts’ thinking and worldview, and by extension made the world a slightly better place. Thus, I am left with a conflict: Do I self-sacrifice for the greater good of our community, or prioritize my own well-being? Society chooses for me, and I am left as the instructor of an additional course titled "Free Black Emotional Labor."

As active members of GWC-UAW Local 2110, we were heartened to read the Spectator editorial board’s trenchant call for Columbia’s administration to honor the results of our unionization vote. The editorial board rightly asserted that honoring the results of a fair election is “a matter of democratic principle,” not one of pro- or anti-union opinion. Now, the semester is winding to a close and another graduation approaches and we wonder: Will Columbia’s actions this spring live up to the ideals proclaimed in May’s speeches, ceremony, and circumstance?