I’ve always struggled with the idea of loyalty to an organization. I understand how people might develop an affinity with their workplace to the point of buying the bumper sticker, wearing the swag, sporting the hoodie, drinking from their favourite mug, etc. What I comprehend less is the employer’s expectation on what I’ve always felt is a process of conversion. As in, religious or spiritual conversion. The notion that people within a university should adopt and embrace the cultural values and ethos of the institution. Acceptance without question or criticism.
I’m not saying that conversion of this nature can’t or shouldn’t happen. What I’m arguing against is the basic expectation or assumption, which I think is false and naive. As though it’s implicit in the job itself, a condition of the workplace.
Being offered a job doesn’t buy loyalty automatically. There’s a level of gratefulness that might come from obtaining a good salary, job security, and benefits. I’m not denying that fact. But that, in essence, is what a job offers as its principal components. Being hired into a position affords you those privileges. To expect, somehow, that this should translate directly or immediately into something more profound is absurd. The culture of a work environment determines everything else. And from my experience working in universities, our institutions fail miserably at welcoming people into the fold in ways that would naturally (and healthily) induce loyalty.
Let me unpack my thinking a little more with a personal story.
I used to work at a big university that re-branded itself with the colour purple. Donor campaigns aggressively targeted faculty and staff as much as alumni and community members. The mentality was completely different to other organizations. They assumed that everyone felt like them, that our experiences were shared, that the institutional narrative was obvious. Having arrived from another country and culture, I can assure you the opposite was true. So much so, in fact, that the intensifying expectations around loyalty introduced a healthy amount of resentment.
We used to hold Open Days for prospective students (and their parents), showcasing our academic programs and degrees. These events were always held on Sundays, and we were expected to ‘work’ outside our traditional hours without any additional pay. In essence, the assumption was that we loved the place so much that we would dedicate our spare time to its promotion. (Wrong on so many levels.)
Leaving aside this problematic premise, I recall one time when we were also asked to wear purple polo shirts to represent our institution. Like good company men. We were requested to don an outfit, a costume of sorts, which we felt cheapened our integrity and heightened our sense of injustice. I and some of my colleagues refused to two the party line, stating that our presence alone is what truly mattered. Despite the weekend work, we believed enough in the value of recruitment and our own academic programs to be there. Surely, we felt, that was the whole point.
They pushed. And by ‘they’, I mean Faculty and University administrators – the main organizers behind the event. We were clearly speaking at cross-purposes. In return for our alleged insubordination, for this is how our actions were interpreted, we were denied our name tags. So, in our conversations with students and parents, we weren’t permitted to be identified by the organization we were representing and to which we were recruiting.
The whole thing was and is absurd. I know it now as I knew it then. Petty, but reasonably so. There was a principle being upheld in that we – the faculty members – didn’t work for anybody but ourselves. I mean, yes, of course we worked for the university, but that didn’t mean that we would serve their bidding. I suppose it was a fight for autonomy and, at its core, a resistance against institutional branding. Some form of loyalty was expected, outwardly manifested in this case through unflattering clothing.
There are definitely conflicting ideas here. On the one hand, every member of an organization is an ambassador of sorts. In the example mentioned above, I and my colleagues were best placed to represent our departments, Faculty, and University to the broader community. But on the other hand, we are individuals who think, behave, and dress differently. Nobody, we believed, should be in a position to tell us otherwise, salary or not.
Loyalty is earned. It’s one outcome of an organic relationship that is reciprocal. It’s not something committed on demand but rather developed in partnership. To expect otherwise is extractive and offensive. In my case, it was probably the first and possibly most overt example where my values were challenged. Where I knew that I didn’t agree with the over-arching company message or direction. Where I felt that my lifespan as a member of the institution was dwindling.
While, on the surface, this is just one small example, it provides some justification for my departure years later. My feelings and alignment had shifted. Only I didn’t know it at the time. The absence of awareness disabled me from being able to articulate my sentiments in any meaningful way. What felt wrong in the moment was a sign.
The moral of the story is somewhat critical of universities. That these institutions which are driven and sustained by people and intellectual power continually fail to live up to their own ideals. That the business model which girds their modern incarnations too easily overlooks (and forgets?) the foundations of trust and respect on which each relationship is founded.