On Speakers and Commentators

[This post is dedicated to Irem Kurtsal Steen.--ES]

Over a decade ago, I was a commentator on a paper by fellow junior scholar in the margins of a conference organized by the American Philosophical Association (APA). We were both just out of graduate school; I was moving between positions, while the person I was commenting on had just landed a tenure track position at a nice, but otherwise undistinguished college in the Midwest. When I looked at the program and saw some 'big name' scheduled at the same time, I realized we would have a very small audience. Even so, one never knows who will show up, and I had an earnest desire to contribute my part to the advancement of learning. I received the paper on the late side (but as I later learned no later than common in the profession), and I dutifully wrote up and emailed my rather telling, I thought, criticisms bracketed by faint, polite praise at the start and at the end of my comment. I was genuinely curious how the speaker would respond, and I was looking forward to a serious discussion.

At the appointed hour, the official chair of the session showed up to inform us that he was going to the famous person event. I effortlessly moved into the dual-role of Chair and Commentator. To my pleasant surprise a familiar face from graduate school showed up in the audience, which never went beyond five people. Two minutes or so into the speaker's presentation, I realized that he had changed the paper in light of my comments without acknowledging my contribution. I literally heard one of my critical observations presented as evidence in favor of the speaker's position.

Then and now, I am officially committed to collaborative research, and so probably should have appreciated the implied compliment toward my contribution. But I was furious. (In writing this, I rediscover my anger.) Also, I had no idea what to say when it would be my turn to comment. Explaining my situation to the audience seemed, well...tacky, and also would reveal the depth of my anger--I wasn't eager to show the speaker how annoyed I was. As the minutes glided by, I started to get ever more anxious. While I was staring at my now worthless comments, the answer to my predicament stared me in the face.

For, my original comments had all been 'constructive,' in the sense that I had assumed some of the speaker's main unstated premises; my original commentary was an immanent criticism. (This is why the speaker could improve his paper so effortlessly with my comments.) Maybe the speaker had thought me so hostile that his breech of etiquette seemed warranted in his mind. (I am no stranger to such self-confirming delusions, of course.) But as it happens, I had added a few more damning criticisms in the footnotes, intended just for his eyes only and signaling to him the very deep gap between our views. So, when as Chair, I called upon myself. I was still shaking with anger, but I steadied myself and just read my footnotes in response (and added some transition-statements to smooth the flow among them). I had the grim satisfaction that during Q&A, the few desolate questions from the floor all tried to goad him into a response to my criticisms. After the session closed, I stormed out of the room, saying a quick hi to my graduate school friend, but without any interest in engaging the speaker more.

 

With the benefit of hindsight, the speaker was short-sighted. We did not become intellectual collaborators--I never exchanged drafts with him. More subtly: as my career advanced, I never suggested his name to be included in an event, an edited volume, etc. While having a powerful supervisor, who is willing to go to bat for you, can take you a long way, in practice most of us rely on the more diffuse judgments of our lateral peers for most of the small breaks, if any, we accumulate in the profession. (After all, powerful supervisors are very busy advancing their own careers!)

To the best of my knowledge the speaker and I interacted once more (a year later, he chaired a session that I participated in). As the years went by, I simply forgot his name and affiliation. I don't think I have ever refereed his material, but cannot rule it out. I doubt we would recognize each other even if we bumped into each other at an APA. (I have lost a lot of hair.) In writing this post, I checked my records, and I found his name; I googled him, and he is still at the same college as way back when. Evidently, he is a good citizen somewhere.