Hope in higher ed

Last week, I published a piece about hope in higher ed. I shared my experience as a first-generation college student and the optimism I felt when I started my job as a faculty member. There was just so much possibility. Here, I want to expand on my piece with a bit more detail on how I found hope in higher ed, again.

Even before recent political upheaval, academia was under stress—budget cuts, student debt, threats to academic freedom, and growing mental health concerns. Job security is eroding, even for tenured faculty. As a result, those working in higher education are feeling unappreciated and that they work in a toxic workplace. Colleagues around the USA are having grants pulled back and institutions are embroiled in lawsuits against the federal government. I am certainly not naïve to the challenges we face in higher education. I have already had a grant pulled by the federal government and another one at risk. I spent the last two years on my university’s finance and administration committee during a period of painful cuts.

Given these challenges, the allure of being a cynic in higher education is strong. Cynicism, or a general distrust of the motives of others, is a reasonable reaction to the enormous challenges and uncertainty we face. It is easy to fall into the trap of the cynic. Cynicism shows up in many forms: mocking students, deriding colleagues, or resenting others’ success. There is a general undercurrent of cynicism in academia, but we also can all think of colleagues that (often proudly) fashion themselves as cynics. Being a cynic is in vogue. Yet, although one’s cynicism is probably warranted, it is neither healthy nor helpful.

Here, I outline why we should combat cynicism and why we need to fight for a hopeful future. Giving into the cynicism means the processes or systems don’t change. I’ll be clear: cynicism is not realism. Cynicism assumes failure in advance and rationalizes disengagement as insight. Pessimism fears the worst. But hope, unlike naïve optimism, is not ignorant to hardship. Hope is the decision to try anyway.

There isn’t a lot of data on cynicism in higher education directly. Related ideas—such as being curmudgeonly, misanthropic, or pessimistic—have been noted anecdotally, especially among faculty and academic leadership. These feelings within colleges are not unique to them. For example, Pew studies on trust reveal a broader societal decline in institutional confidence, especially in government, media, and education. There has been some research on cynicism among trainees, especially graduate students and postdocs, linking it to burnout, loss of motivation, and disconnection from their academic communities. Yet, the broader evidence on the harms of cynicism is clear.

There’s also a persistent myth that cynics are more intelligent or insightful, research shows that cynicism correlates with reduced creativity, diminished well-being, and poorer physical health. I don’t know of a single case where cynicism led to a new scientific breakthrough or helped change the arc of a student’s life.

Cynicism is a way to obfuscate our responsibility for change. If we accept that “the system” is just broken and can’t be fixed, then we can wipe our hands of needing to act. Thus, a cynical attitude is self-fulfilling and causes more cynicism in academia. What is the alternative? I don’t believe optimism is the way forward either, at least not blanket or naïve optimism. Optimism suggests that there will be a positive outcome, regardless of our actions. Thus, optimism also relieves us of responsibility. One could be optimistic without needing to put in the work. I also don’t believe unmerited positivity is the path forward either and instead can be toxic. I think it is important to root challenges in realism.

Instead, I want to make the case for hope in higher education. Hope is a desire for wanting a better future, but recognizing we must put in the work to achieve that future. Hope doesn’t mean ignoring injustice or hardship. It means seeing them clearly—and choosing to keep working anyway. In my own work, hope looks like mentoring a student through failure, or pushing for better policies even when they stall. Hope isn’t a spectator sport, it is an active process.

In the current moment, I think it is easy to dismiss the idea of hope. There is so much chaos and uncertainty. Yet, if we pay attention, we can see examples of hope around us. Institutions are starting to stand up for themselves and others. Faculty across institutions are joining forces.

I have the most reason for hope when I focus more locally. In moments of chaos, I can spend time focused on those within my circle of care. By simply showing up and listening, I can change the path of a mentee. I still see the power of graduate students coming together to demand a better sick leave policy. I see faculty colleagues having positive, life altering impacts for their students. Faculty are still designing and re-designing courses to improve student outcomes. These changes weren’t driven by cynicism. They were driven by people who still believed change was worth pursuing. When I focus on these moments, I am reminded that higher education is still a beacon of hope. Even if I didn’t have this evidence for hope, I don’t see another choice besides hope if I want to see change. Hope is a path we can choose, but we must do it together. I feel a particular responsibility for leading with hope. I am in a position of relative security in academia. I have a lot of privilege that I need to wield thoughtfully.

We should continue to focus on issues of transparency and equity, which have been challenges in academia long before the current administration, to rebuild a culture of trust. Trust can breed hope. Within areas we each control, we can set a vision, connect with others on the vision, and start to make real progress. For skeptics, I appreciate Jamil Zaki’s book Hope for Cynics: The Surprising Science of Human Goodness where he defines the idea of being a hopeful skeptic. He notes, “We can be skeptical—demanding evidence before we believe in people—but hopeful knowing they can change for the better”.

I strongly believe we need to root out cynicism, or else cynicism will root us out. What will become of academia if only those that embrace cynicism remain?

I won’t pretend I never feel cynical. It’s easier, sometimes, to roll my eyes in a meeting at a silly comment and not speak up. But I’ve decided that’s not how I want to show up in academia. If I expect my students to believe in the power of higher education, I must believe in it, too. Cynicism is contagious—but so is hope. If you’re tempted to shrug and say ‘That’s just how academia is’—pause. Instead ask: what’s worth fighting for? Where do you want to place your attention? Who might be watching you to decide if they’ll keep going too? Hope is contagious, but only if someone shows it first. Why not you?”