Author: Leah Ross

Surveying the syllabus for INTD 105-03 in the days before the Spring 2020 semester began, I was surprised to see our course epigraph. Previous classes featured quotes or other media that set the tone for our class, but none had an epigraph derived from our seminal text: Octavia Butler’s short story “Bloodchild.” As I would later discover, no class incorporated the epigraph so deeply either. In dialogue that serves as the epigraph, Gan tells T’Gatoi, “If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things, accept the risk. There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner.” In context, Gan is challenging T’Gatoi to allow him to keep an illegal firearm. But, more than that, Gan is challenging T’Gatoi to open herself to risk, while also sagely commenting that risk is a characteristic of all relationships. Throughout our course, amid all sorts of unexpected disruptions, the epigraph became a roadmap for the growth that we engaged in. At the same time, the essay assignments punctuated and facilitated different points of our advancement. Thus, I will separate and analyze the course epigraph in context with my expectations of the course’s work, my growth, and the unique conversations we had with our guests towards the semester’s end to ultimately reflect on Geneseo’s GLOBE initiative and what steps I can take to keep moving forward. 

In our first major class assignment, we enumerated our goals for the rest of the semester in conjunction with the epigraph and other materials. I chose to separate the epigraph into its comprising phrases and analyze each in context with the essay’s other guidelines. Now, reflecting on the semester, I find that a similar format is applicable to the current thesis, and will be, if only because it’s the clearest way for me to analyze my experience. Different phrases within the epigraph correspond to various points of growth throughout the class. For example, the first two clauses of the first sentence—”If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things”—easily apply to the development that I engaged in with the first assignment. A major topic leading up to our first assignment regarded what it meant to be a college student and some of the challenges we encountered. These discussions related to the aforementioned phrases of the epigraph because the course is intended for freshman, many of whom are just entering into adulthood. First-year college students are experiencing a transition from whatever they were before they started college to a college student, and this transition can be likened to the change Gan asks T’Gatoi to undergo regarding her perception of Terrans, from animals to adults. The phrases also inform that everything we are engaging in on campus, through the college, is an “adult” thing. This means each engagement merits careful consideration. 

The end of the first sentence then reads “accept the risk.” This neatly summarizes what students must do if they want to get anything from college and the course: they must accept the risk that comes with being involved in college-level education. This coordinated well with the goal-setting essay which demanded that we engage in some amount of risk, putting ourselves out there—literally, because we published all essays publicly on the Internet—by voicing goals for the class. My expectations and goals for the class were mixed. I registered for this class expecting to study an exciting science fiction short story and when I found out that it was more—that we would be delving into the academic partnership—I was caught off guard. My expectations had to be readjusted. By the time the deadline for our first essay came around my expectations, and goals, had not yet crystallized into something concrete. As I approached the rewrite deadline, armed with more experience, my goals were more precise and in league with class concepts. I wanted to acquire a more well-rounded view of Geneseo, of how the administration sees its students, of the principles that impacted its chief policy makers. Most of all, I wanted to approach all of the above from an academic lens that I felt was so rarely used when discussing the student-admin relationship. I was also aware that goals can be deeply personal or, at the very least, revelatory of our personalities. Involvement in this course demanded that I accept the risk of vulnerability, which allowed me to experience the growth that this essay explores. 

This begs the question of what actual growth occurred. For me growth happened in subtle unexpected ways regarding my approach to writing. One of the first growth areas include that I’m now significantly more comfortable using the first-person in academic writing when it is required. My first essay was distinctly lacking one word: I. One part of the feedback Dr. McCoy gave me that still sticks with me is “Where are YOU in this essay?” I had, and still somewhat hold, a severe aversion to putting myself into my written works. Until this semester, I was by and large able to avoid doing so; my academic writing could always be spun to not include “I”, to remain an outside party as I wrote, even as I took stances. Now, I have less difficulty inserting myself into my work when need be. Another area of improvement which can likely be attributed to what is one of Dr. McCoy’s signature phrases; that is, I do more “thinkING” about what I intend to write and I’m more cognizant of the fact that readers can’t “get inside my head.” These seem like quite obvious tips, but as a writer one of my persistent flaws include not unpacking an idea enough. Although I did first view the feedback from Dr. McCoy for my rewrites as a checklist, being consistently affronted with calls to unpack and think more deeply about the material I’m covering has ingrained in me an automatic questioning of if I am giving each idea I’m covering its due diligence, if I’m “thinkING” enough about it and being clear enough with my language. 

Other growths have been spurred on through class discussion and feedback. Most notably, I learned to use less all-encompassing language. A large part of the course, to me, revolved around different experiences. From analyzing the mission statements of different colleges to talking in class about our contrasting experiences at Geneseo so far, I’ve become more and more aware that not everyone has the same experience and to use language implying such does a disservice to everyone involved. At the beginning of the semester I remember receiving push back for saying that all college freshman were emerging adults. That experience made me aware, in every instance, that people within a group did not necessarily all have the same experiences and to take care not to exclude anyone from my writing. To do so meant alienating someone as soon as they read or heard my arguments, which would only injure my credibility as a writer. Another improvement, which came primarily from Dr. McCoy’s feedback, is my effort to write more in the active voice rather than the passive I usually lean on. This is an evident benefit as the active voice makes writing more engaging to read. These are growths that will serve me well as I move forward with my learning.

The second sentence of the epigraph—”There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner”—gives attention to the partner and a partnership’s characteristics. These have much to do with the second and third major essays we wrote, about our seminal text in relation to current academic conditions and to essential services respectively. In focusing on the partner, we can engage in more, and different, growth. This development focuses outward, on our understanding of the institutions we are attending and, therefore, engaged in. Nothing accentuated this growth more than our conversations with key members of the Geneseo administration: robbie routenberg, Joe Cope, and Sasha Eloi-Evans. 

For me, these discussions led to not only a greater understanding of the motivations and current focuses of administration, but also a humanization of the people who are involved in policy-making that impacts all of the Geneseo community. We were able to see how the academic partnership—which we spent nearly a whole semester talking about—was regarded by the very people we were commenting on. Personally, this reinforced ideas that several of the administration is earnestly trying to make Geneseo a better place and cares for its student body. The fact that each administrator we met with spent a significant part of the meeting asking about how we were doing only compounds this. What’s more, hearing about the complexities Dr. Eloi-Evans faces in both representing the students and being taken seriously by faculty and colleagues was very moving and made me reevaluate my perception of her role. Additionally, showed the dedication of some admin to ensuring the well-being of the students. The sentiment of these administrators becomes incredibly important both in normal times—when we are on-campus and feel as though administration is out-of-touch and uninterested in student concerns—and when we are in periods of distanced learning, when we feel disconnected from the college and like the administration is doing even less than we were used to. 

At the end of “Bloodchild,” we see Gan reflect on his evening detached from the actual events. He says he “could remember the feelings without reviving them. I could talk about them” (p 29) and, as we approach the end of the semester, we must also remember, reflect, and—most importantly—talk about our experiences in INTD 105. These acts go hand in hand with Geneseo’s GLOBE practices in more ways than one. On a surface level, we are being forced through this essay to look at ourselves and evaluate just how much growth has happened since January. For me, this took quite a lot of effort because I’m not used to introspecting and then translating the discoveries I’ve made to paper. It has been challenging but gratifying and has left me with multiple areas where I can still evolve. The growths that I enumerated came from little-developed skills that still leave much to be desired. As I move forward, my goal is to increase my awareness of the habitual mistakes I make and to correct them, with the intention that if I do this enough, I won’t make the same mistakes. This applies to implementation of the first person in my academic work, of putting myself more in my work, as well as using language that accounts for everyone’s varied experiences. The latter is something I am incorporating more into everyday life, whilst other improvements that I highlighted can only really be exhibited in my writing. All of these are making me more capable to fulfill what I see as my end of the academic partnership I am engaging in with SUNY Geneseo. Learning about the academic partnership as a whole may not have been what I expected when I signed up for this course, but it has undoubtedly been a worthwhile experience. 

Integrative learning is a type of classroom behavior that emphasizes time outside the classroom just as much as time within it. The Association of American Colleges and Universities (AAC&U) created a “framing language” to better explain the purpose of integrative learning and how it can be carried out. Dr. McCoy supplemented this vision in a video interview regarding this learning and teaching style. Integrative learning is “cross-disciplinary”—as Professor McCoy put it in the video—and reiterative, focused on connection beyond what the AAC&U calls “academic boundaries.” The ultimate goal involves creating people who can function as participating members of our global society. A key part of integrative learning also includes exploring subjects beyond the classroom and connecting them to course material. By enabling students to see links between SUNY Geneseo’s Facilities department and heating plant, and our current perceptions of the academic partnership and Octavia Butler’s short story “Bloodchild,” integrative learning allows me and my peers to reevaluate our class through a new lens, more oriented towards care and providing for other living creatures, both on a regular basis and in times of emergency.

The Department of Facility Services is an integral part of SUNY Geneseo, yet students and faculty don’t often consider it as such. It’s all too easy to forget about how critical this department is when students gripe about their residence hall’s shortcomings or when faculty and staff bemoan tech issues. At the same time, the academic partnership is traditionally regarded as two-sided: between students and faculty or administration. However, nothing that happens in Geneseo would be possible without Facilities. In the first seconds of a video on the Facilities’ department web page, the narrator explains that the department’s mission is “to ensure that the college runs smoothly.” This is absolutely crucial; without the hard work of Facilities, there would be no physical space for the college to exist in. As the recent COVID-19 situation demonstrates, not having a physical space where students can go to college can be quite demoralizing. That being said, I believe that Facilities adds another level to the broader academic partnership between a student and their college. Facilities is one more group of individuals that students can make connections with. For example, Brandon Schmitt, an employee, discussed how rewarding it was to be able to do something that the students would recognize almost immediately. At the same time, Karen Rockhill—Academic Head Custodial Supervisor—explained that Facilities was an environment that always invited questions and was eager to teach others about the jobs that it encompassed. These two statements highlighted for me that Facilities is an underappreciated section of the college that is filled with possible connections that students can create and nurture. Thus, Facilities is a department that supports what we consider to be the traditional academic partnership between students and administration, while also being a part of the greater, and ever-evolving, academic partnership between the student and the college.

Another integral function of maintaining SUNY Geneseo is the heating plant. Most people on campus have passed by it—and its billowing smokestack—countless times, without knowing what it is. However, the college would not be able to function, much less house its students, were it not for the heating plant. In this way, the heating plant and its staff play a crucial role in the academic partnership. Admittedly the academic partnership is not a singular association; everyone involved with the college has a different view of it and how they relate to it. Nevertheless, everyone from the president to the students are impacted by the heating plant. The plant’s website enumerates the many services it provides, including providing the entire campus with hot water. What’s more, the website points out that the plant’s staff are responsible for responding to all “after-hours maintenance emergencies.” I see this as impacting the students more so than faculty; but nonetheless the service and dedication of staff is incredible. This is considering that “after-hours” consists of so much time, both on weekdays and weekends, and there is staff stationed there twenty-four hours a day/seven days a week. Yet, as a tour guide, I point out every building on East Campus, West Campus, and South Village, but never mention the heating plant. 

The plant also proclaims a commitment to sustainability—as the website indicates a close partnership with Environmental Health and Safety departments—which is impressive and appreciated in the wake of increasing climate change. However, this comes slightly at odds with the smokestack building, which I’ve seen active on occasion, and makes me question the levels of sustainability practiced. Such information could definitely impact one version of the academic partnership, with regards to environmental sustainability and preservability, towards not only students and faculty but to the greater Geneseo area. That being said, this doesn’t do much to detract from other academic partnerships the heating plant upholds, wherein the plant and its employees do so much to create an environment where students can learn, and faculty can teach. This dedication to providing so much for the people who rely on Geneseo in one way or another simply shows that anyone associated with the college ought to be more appreciative and knowledgeable regarding the heating plant and its employees. 

After investigating Geneseo’s facilities department and heating plant—and seeing just how much they do to keep the college functioning—we can return to Octavia Butler’s “Bloodchild” with new eyes. This new sight is more focused on care and providing for the sentient beings around you. The first observations to come to mind were several parallels between the roles of these Geneseo institutions and of the Tlic and Terrans. At the novel’s beginning, T’Gatoi is providing Gan’s family with eggs that sustain their good health and youth, much as both facilities and the heating plant maintain Geneseo’s campus in ways that no other group can. To that extent, the role of the Terrans take an entirely new viewpoint. T’Gatoi herself mentions that the proliferation of her race would not have been possible without the arrival of the Terrans, making them as indispensable as facilities and the heating plant. Furthermore, throughout all their web pages and videos, facilities and the heating plant employees seemed extremely kind and eager to help. This bears some resemblance to Gan at the end of the novel, as he decides to bear T’Gatoi’s children, out of love, despite other possible resolutions. On another note, the heating plant in particular stood out in conjunction with Lomas’ unexpected emergency. The heating plant is meant to ensure a plethora of essential services are provided to campus, much like someone who is pregnant is expected to provide so much for their child. Similarly, the heating plant houses staff that deal with all emergencies after-hours. This sense of always being ready, especially on off hours mirrors T’Gatoi’s reaction when she found Lomas, analyzed the situation, and decided what needed to be done. In many ways, Geneseo’s facilities department and heating plant helped me reevaluate “Bloodchild” through a lens more focused on care and providing for other living creatures, both on a regular basis, and in times of emergency.

Throughout the paragraphs above, I have explored the very essence of integrative learning. It is reiterative and multi-disciplinary. As students, we’ve put into action the words of the AAC&U’s framing language in our connection of academics with our campus and community life. While it might not seem obvious, it certainly didn’t seem so to me at first, each paragraph of this essay has achieved the goal of integrative learning. Each has included critical thinking, connection-making, between an aspect of campus life and a feature of this course. At first it was the connections between the facilities department and heating plant, respectively, and the academic partnership. Then it was between these two institutions that allow our campus to function and “Bloodchild,” this course’s seminal text. This has allowed us to broaden our horizons regarding institutions many of us knew very little about yet do so much for us—often by quite literally caring for us—and the general community, as an employer and place of growth.  We’ve also had the opportunity to reflect and be in discussion with our work and others’ in ways that hark back to the AAC&U’s statement encouraging reflection and contribution. All of this allows students to become more well-rounded individuals that will better contribute to our societies after we graduate. 

For most students, going to college is an experience unlike any other they have had in their lives so far. Students are faced with a myriad of new choices and decisions that they can make, usually on their own, for the first time. For many this freedom is exhilarating, and there is no shortage of clichés citing college as the “best four years of your life,” or as the place where students can grow up and transition from adolescence to emerging adulthood. As these students are learning and developing, it can occur that these higher education institutions act as students’ parents in order to facilitate their moral growth in ways that the institutions approve. This doctrine is called in loco parentis. While its prevalence in colleges has significantly decreased in recent decades, some of its principles still appear in contemporary pieces of legislation and literature within higher education. For example, analyzing SUNY Geneseo’s Student Code of Conduct (S.C.C.) shows that the college is not completely divested of this ideology. At the same time, recent actions of other institutions wherein they use students’ cell phones to track them (Harwell) demonstrates more willingness to continue the legacy of in loco parentis. These events can be points of contention between college students and their institutions’ administration, with some students feeling uncomfortable in wake of such invasive technology. In turn, this strife can cause tension in the academic partnership that both students and admin are engaged in, as students surge up to defend what they perceive to be infringed rights. In seeking a solution, or at least guidance, students can turn to the protagonist of Octavia Butler’s “Bloodchild,” Gan. While the title’s circumstances are very varied from those that college students encounter, many face similar struggles with regard to their relationship with authority. For Gan, it is his—and his race’s—relationship with the Tlic alien race. For college students, their institution’s administration is the authority. In attempts to reconcile with the troubling authority perceived by college students through the SCC, cell phone tracking, and in loco parentis in general, Gan’s experiences throughout “Bloodchild” can be a useful guide due to the similarities he experiences and the conclusions he realizes.  Those conclusions ultimately being that by consenting to join institutions, some freedoms are inherently being given up; however, that is no reason to not practice self-advocacy. 

            The first piece of legislation that poses perhaps the most concern is the SCC, particularly because we are all students at Geneseo. It has clear displays of in loco parentis, by explaining which rights and freedoms students are divested of as soon as even apply to Geneseo. The earliest examples are in Article I. There, it explains that the SCC is based on “behavioral standards and expectations,” (para. 3) in line with the college’s mission and values. Later on, in Article IV Section B, it enumerates behaviors deemed “antithetical” to Geneseo (para. 1). While many of these prohibited behaviors are also local, state, or federal crimes, the language here—as well as in earlier cited sections—implies that the college wishes to mold its students into adults with certain ethical values of which the college approves. This can trouble many students and is not dissimilar to the manner that the Tlic treat the Terrans on the Preserve. On page 8, Gan explains his relationship with T’Gatoi and how it could extend to all Tlic-Terran relations. Gan was promised to Gatoi before birth, admitting that she wanted to be involved in all his “phases of development” (p 8). In other words, she wished to have an active role molding Gan, a statement which reads as caring at best and manipulative at worst. Later in that paragraph, Gan extols the benefits of Tlic adopting young Terrans. Thus, in the beginning of the story, Gan seems appreciative of being ushered into adulthood with an overarching guiding hand, in the same way that higher education institutions enforce in loco parentis. Yet neither Gan nor the students of higher education, at this point, have a very developed concept of self-advocacy and how to enact it.  

            However, Gan’s views and opinions change in the wake of Lomas’ near death. This shift, especially when applied to other acts of in loco parentis perpetuated by colleges and universities, can be particularly useful to college students. One example was the subject of Drew Harwell’s article in The Washington Post; therein he detailed the increasingly widespread use of apps like SpotterEDU and Degree Analytics on college campuses to track students’ locations (Harwell, 2019). This information is used for attendance, and sometimes to calculate if a student’s mental health is declining (Harwell, 2019). Students in the article explain that this tracking is obliged, lest they want to face repercussions, and some fear self-advocacy because of the risk of ostracization (Harwell, 2019). This tracking software harks back to “Bloodchild” quite literally because Gan and Lomas are both forced to carry armbands with their names and those of the Tlic they belong to (p 11). What’s more, it is brought up throughout the narrative that Terrans are restricted to the Preserve unless they are brought outside by a Tlic. Both limitations on free movement are similar to the what students at colleges that employ tools like SpotterEDU and Degree Analytics must face. In all cases, there is a higher authority dictating where people can and cannot go in a manner that goes beyond solely law, and in both cases the impacted party has a limited capacity to promote their own well-being, lest they wish to be put in some endangerment. For students, not participating in programs like SpotterEDU could be disastrous for their education (Harwell, 2019). For Terrans, Gan is quick to note the “desperate eagerness” (p 5) that Tlic gazed upon him with, and that it “could so easily swallow us” (p 5). 

            Both the SCC and Harwell’s article describe how higher education institutions are attempting to enact the principles of in loco parentis, and the similarities between Gan’s experiences and those of college students have been enumerated. This begs the question of how Gan’s narrative can help college students, with understanding the rights they have given up, how to cope with that, and ultimately how to turn towards self-advocacy. The answer to this question lies within Gan’s existential crisis in the story’s last few pages. He questions whether he wants to bear Gatoi’s children after all, and even contemplates suicide with a banned firearm. First, it is important to recognize that, on some level the institutions, and their regulations, were ones that college students chose. Similarly, Gatoi explains that the Terrans fled from a situation where they would have been killed or enslaved by others (p 25), that the Terrans chose to settle with the Tlic. Butler herself propagates this in her afterword when she calls this “a story about paying the rent” (p 31). These excerpts mean that when entering a partnership, there are some rights that you must give up. Just as public school students have fewer privacy rights in school, colleges expect students to give somethings up. This is the risk of an academic partnership. That being said, some schools, like the ones Harwell writes about, ask students to give up more than SUNY Geneseo. At those institutions, there are some students who are willing and undisturbed by the actions of SpotterEDU, while others are deeply uncomfortable (Harwell, 2019). What’s more, some institutions allow students to opt-out of the programs (Harwell, 2019). These choices and behaviors are reflected throughout “Bloodchild,” mostly between Qui and Gan’s opinions and life choices. In the end, Gan consents to Gatoi and the role that was set out for him before he was born.

            However, Gan’s ultimate acceptance of his fate does not mean that for college students they should simply take all of their institutions’ policy and act on it happily. When Gan is still holding the illegal gun, he tells Gatoi that it should remain in the household to “save my life someday” (p 26). At the same time, when Gatoi advocates that Terrans should be prevented from seeing births, Gan dissents, arguing that everyone should be exposed to it. These examples demonstrate perhaps the most important lesson to be learned from Gan: the importance of fighting for your rights and beliefs. When students are faced with legislation and rules that are too restrictive, that seem too much like colleges’ taking a direct hand in their moral growth, they should contest and make strides towards a better situation. In “Bloodchild,” this self-advocacy is seen in two examples: Gatoi lets Gan keep the gun—effectively the authority figure is allowing the existence of something illicit because the argument in favor was well crafted—and Gan plants the idea in Gatoi’s mind of more public examples of Tlic births, by pressing the issue when it comes up. These are the rewards that Gan incurs for the risk he’s taken. 

            Gan’s experiences throughout “Bloodchild” can be analyzed by college students to help them understand more about the risk and rewards of an academic partnership, particularly in dealing with in loco parentis. In the face of authority on college campuses, it is important to first acknowledge that there are certain rights that students have given up by choosing to attend particular institutions. These are often enumerated in codes of conduct and are frequently more restrictive than what one would find outside of a campus. The severity also varies based on college, as Drew Harwell’s article explains in his investigation of tracking applications. Second, Gan’s story demonstrates that even if you do consent to the situation, it remains important to advocate for what you believe in. For SUNY Geneseo, this can come to fruition in many different ways. There are student organizations, like Student Senate—which creates, passes, and presents resolutions to College Senate to enact tangible change of campus legislation—that give students a legitimate outlet for grievances. At the same time, there has been an upcropping of social media accounts where students can lament their woes about anything regarding the school. Both mediums serve their individual purposes. In summation, “Bloodchild” and Gan’s growth throughout the book provide good lessons for emerging adults in colleges and universities of how to cope in the face of authority and seemingly unchangeable norms.  

For most students, going to college is an experience unlike any other they have had in their lives so far. Students are faced with a myriad of new choices and decisions that they can make, usually on their own, for the first time. For many this freedom is exhilarating, and there is no shortage of clichés citing college as the “best four years of your life,” or as the place where students can grow up and transition from adolescence to emerging adulthood. As these students are learning and developing, it can occur that these higher education institutions act as students’ parents in order to facilitate their moral growth in ways that the institutions approve. This doctrine is called in loco parentis. While its prevalence in colleges has significantly decreased in recent decades, some of its principles still appear in contemporary pieces of legislation and literature within higher education. For example, analyzing SUNY Geneseo’s Student Code of Conduct (S.C.C.) shows that the college is not completely divested of this ideology. At the same time, recent actions of other institutions wherein they use students’ cell phones to track them (Harwell) demonstrates more willingness to continue the legacy of in loco parentis. These events can be points of contention between college students and their institutions’ administration. In turn, this strife can cause tension in the academic partnership that both students and admin are engaged in. In seeking a solution, or at the very least guidance, students can turn to the protagonist of Octavia Butler’s “Bloodchild,” Gan. While the title’s circumstances are very varied from those that college students encounter, many face similar struggles with regard to their relationship with authority. For Gan, it is his—and his race’s—relationship with the Tlic alien race. For college students, their institution’s administration is the authority. In attempts to reconcile with the troubling authority perceived by college students through the SCC, cell phone tracking, and in loco parentis in general, Gan’s experiences throughout “Bloodchild” can be a useful guide due to the similarities he experiences and the conclusions he realizes.  

            The first piece of legislation that poses perhaps the most concern is the SCC, particularly because we are all students at Geneseo. It has clear displays of in loco parentis, with the earliest examples in Article I. There, it explains that the SCC is based on “behavioral standards and expectations,” (para. 3) in line with the college’s mission and values. Later on, in Article IV Section B, it enumerates behaviors deemed “antithetical” to Geneseo (para. 1). While many of these prohibited behaviors are also local, state, or federal crimes, the language here—as well as in earlier cited sections—implies that the college wishes to mold its students into adults with certain ethical values of which the college approves. This can trouble many students and is not dissimilar to the manner that the Tlic treat the Terrans on the Preserve. On page 8, Gan explains his relationship with T’Gatoi and how it could extend to all Tlic-Terran relations. Gan was promised to Gatoi before birth, admitting that she wanted to be involved in all his “phases of development” (p 8). In other words, she wished to have an active role molding Gan. Later in that paragraph, Gan extols the benefits of Tlic adopting young Terrans. Thus, in the beginning of the story, Gan seems appreciative of being ushered into adulthood with an overarching guiding hand, in the same way that higher education institutions enforce in loco parentis.

            However, Gan’s views and opinions change in the wake of Lomas’ near death. This shift, especially when applied to other acts of in loco parentis perpetuated by colleges and universities, can be particularly useful to college students. One example was the subject of Drew Harwell’s article in The Washington Post; therein he detailed the increasingly widespread use of apps like SpotterEDU and Degree Analytics on college campuses to track students’ locations (Harwell, 2019). This information is used for attendance, and sometimes to calculate if a student’s mental health is declining (Harwell, 2019). Students in the article explain that this tracking is obliged, lest they want to face repercussions (Harwell, 2019). This harks back to “Bloodchild” quite literally because Gan and Lomas are both forced to carry armbands with their names and those of the Tlic they belong to (p 11). What’s more, it is brought up throughout the narrative that Terrans are restricted to the Preserve unless they are brought outside by a Tlic. Both limitations on free movement are similar to the what students at colleges that employ tools like SpotterEDU and Degree Analytics must face. In all cases, there is a higher authority dictating where people can and cannot go in a manner that goes beyond solely law.

            Both the SCC and Harwell’s article describe how higher education institutions are attempting to enact the principles of in loco parentis, and the similarities between Gan’s experiences and those of college students have been enumerated. This begs the question of how Gan’s narrative can help college students. The answer to this question lies within Gan’s existential crisis in the story’s last few pages. He questions whether he wants to bear Gatoi’s children after all, and even contemplates suicide with a banned firearm. First, it is important to recognize that, on some level the institutions, and their regulations, were ones that college students chose. Gatoi explains that the Terrans fled from a situation where they would have been killed or enslaved by others (p 25), that they chose to settle with the Tlic. Butler herself propagates this in her afterword when she calls this “a story about paying the rent” (p 31). These excerpts mean that when entering a partnership, there are some rights that you must give up. Just as public school students have fewer privacy rights in school, colleges expect students to give somethings up. This is the risk of an academic partnership. That being said, some schools, like the ones Harwell writes about, ask students to give up more than SUNY Geneseo. At those institutions, there are some students who are willing and undisturbed by the actions of SpotterEDU, while others are deeply uncomfortable (Harwell, 2019). What’s more, some institutions allow students to opt-out of the programs (Harwell, 2019). These choices and behaviors are reflected throughout “Bloodchild,” mostly between Qui and Gan’s opinions and life choices. In the end, Gan consents to Gatoi and the role that was set out for him before he was born.

            However, Gan’s ultimate acceptance of his fate does not mean that for college students they should simply take all of their institutions’ policy and act on it happily. When Gan is still holding the illegal gun, he tells Gatoi that it should remain in the household to “save my life someday” (p 26). At the same time, when Gatoi advocates that Terrans should be prevented from seeing births, Gan dissents, arguing that everyone should be exposed to it. These examples demonstrate perhaps the most important lesson to be learned from Gan: the importance of fighting for your rights and beliefs. When students are faced with legislation and rules that are too restrictive, that seem too much like colleges’ taking a direct hand in their moral growth, they should contest and make strides towards a better situation. This is seen in both examples: Gatoi lets Gan keep the gun, and he plants the idea in her mind of more public examples of Tlic births. These are the rewards that Gan incurs for the risk he’s taken.            

Gan’s experiences throughout “Bloodchild” can be analyzed by college students to help them understand more about the risk and rewards of an academic partnership, particularly in dealing with in loco parentis. In the face of authority on college campuses, it is important to first acknowledge that there are certain rights that students have given up by choosing to attend particular institutions. These are often enumerated in codes of conduct and are frequently more restrictive than what one would find outside of a campus. The severity also varies based on college, as Drew Harwell’s article explains in his investigation of tracking applications. Second, Gan’s story demonstrates that even if you do consent to the situation, it remains important to advocate for what you believe in.

            Risk is defined as the “possibility of loss or injury” and, at some point, everyone will face a risk in their lives. These possibilities of peril may present themselves in different guises. It may be a physical risk, like undertaking a dangerous task, or an emotional risk, like getting attached to a certain people. The most often discussed emotional risk is a relationship. By that same token, relationships are frequently seen as romantic endeavors. But one type of relationship not usually regarded is the academic partnership, particularly between college students and the faculty, staff, and other administrators of the institution. Octavia Butler’s short story “Bloodchild” broaches several forms of risk and summarily explains the inherent risk of a relationship through the protagonist, Gan. In dialogue that is also our course epigraph, Gan tells T’Gatoi, “If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things, accept the risk. There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner.” Each phrase from these two sentences carries meaning for all relationships, but particularly an academic partnership. Thus, the course epigraph will be separated into segments and analyzed in context with the course syllabus and other materials; at the same time, each segment of the epigraph will also allow me to explore the different goals that I have for this class.  

            Gan’s first sentence is a conditional ultimatum, “If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things, accept the risk.” Of particular importance now is the phrase, “If we’re not your animals.” While this may seem extraneous—simply a part of the story—to a college writing course, as it appeared to me at first, it can be applied to that very institution. Being a college student in the U.S., or simply in the age range of a traditional college student, is peculiar because many are legal adults but must still endure limitations that may not be present in other countries, and a class discussion recently highlighted this exact contradiction. The concept of adulthood will be discussed later, but the limbo that traditionally aged college students inhabit can sometimes make them feel as though they are animals, penned in, all the same, and with little ability to may their own choices. This captive state is similar to how Terrans are kept on the Preserve in “Bloodchild”, and also harkens to Cathy Birkenstein and Gerald Graff’s book They Say/ I Say. In the introduction, the authors bring up a frequently received concern that using the templates that populate the book stifles creativity, boxing students in. While Birkenstein and Graff argue that it is quite the opposite for the templates, that they increase creativity, the same cannot always be said of the colleges and universities students attend. That is why it is extremely interesting that the SUNY Geneseo mission statement, as proffered at the beginning of the syllabus, includes a section for “Inclusivity” that seeks “respect for the unique talents and contributions of each individual.” The focus on individualism indicates the college’s desire to combat the sense of sameness students can feel in any campus, regardless of size. This sameness, in turn, can lead to parallels between students and animals. 

On a similar note, the importance Geneseo supposedly places on individuality can almost be called into question in the wake of homework and class discussions wherein other institutions’ mission statements were read and the class found that each of them echoed very similar sentiments. Personally, this brought up a bevy of questions regarding the requirements, particularly for a SUNY school, that mission and diversity statements must meet. These are questions I hope to answer when Associate Counsel Seth Gilbertson visits. The assignment also sparked an interest in how academic partnerships differ based on institutions. Examples include Biola University, whose theological focus implies that the partnership will be different than a secular public school like Geneseo, and St. John’s College, whose miniscule total enrollment of 371 promises a radically different educational experience than a campus like University at Buffalo which boasts a total of 31, 503 students. All of these differences have encouraged me to learn more about how distinct academic institutions breed particular academic partnerships and the comparisons and contrasts between each.       

            The next conditional phrase in the epigraph is “if these are adult things,” and this applies more directly to the experience of a college student. The discussion of adulthood, or lack thereof, on a college campus is impacted literally by the age of the students, many of whom are between 18 and 21, but also metaphorically. Most, but not all, traditionally aged college students are living away from home and making significant life choices for the first time. Cognizant of that, institutions sometimes implement the in loco parentis principle, wherein they act as parental figures. Phillip Lee investigated the history of in loco parentis, which was a major doctrine used by colleges to have a hand in students’ private lives (p. 66) until the 1960s, regardless of their consent. This practice fell out of use due to several court cases, heralded by Dixon v. Alabama (1961), and despite nearly sixty years between that ruling and today, it can sometimes feel like in loco parentis is very much still alive in higher education institutions. For example, Barnard College in New York City requires guests to be signed in and continually escorted by their host when they visit residence halls. This imposition is similar to parents monitoring who their children can have visit, a process that seems strange and out of place when, as a previous paragraph explained, most people in college are legal adults. 

Given experiences like the aforementioned, it is particularly noteworthy that there are several visits scheduled on the syllabus by prominent figures in SUNY Geneseo to discuss their work in the lens of “forms of consent”.  Such language begs the question of how in loco parentis is, or is not, implemented on campus and in each individual’s respective positions. To elaborate, in loco parentis is the act of one body behaving parentally towards another; with parental behavior being marked by decision-making for others without their consent, because society does not yet deem those people fit to make their own decision. If a college is using in loco parentis to craft its rules and other programs, then it is likely not according proper consent to its students. Thus, I am excited at the multiple opportunities that we are provided with throughout this class to talk candidly with high level administrators about how consent informs the decisions they make on a daily basis that impact the college. In conjunction with these opportunities, one of my goals for this semester is to explore the depth of the relationship that these administrators have with the consent that they afford to the student body.   

            The final phrase of the first sentence and much of the next have to deal with risk. Gan tells T’Gatoi, “accept the risk. There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner.” This gets to the heart of the matter, the inherent risk of an academic partnership. Students are putting trust in an institution to teach them and fulfill the role of higher education, a faith that is both sentimental and in the form of tuition. Meanwhile, institutions rely on students to uphold certain standards, of grades and livelihood. On both sides, these hopes may not be fulfilled and even the exact opposite can happen. Yet, both continue to place at least some faith in the other. This brings about several questions. How do institutions evaluate risks and attempt to mitigate them? What detriment to the student population does this incur? Risk was displayed in a recent event reported in Business Insider, wherein a student maintained a Twitter account parodying the SUNY Geneseo official account. The school noticed this, evaluated the risk of misinformation, and ultimately asked Twitter to take down the account. This demonstrates the risks of academic partnership and also brings forth possible issues that can arise. This inspires me to learn more about the plans for risk mitigation that institutions must undergo and why they might not have plans to mitigate some risks. This comes in the wake of a blackout that left half of Geneseo’s campus without power or hot water and, at an open forum, the administrator in charge of facilities admitted that the campus did not have a plan of action if Geneseo’s aged equipment failed as it did that night. Thus, one more goal I have for this semester is to discover as much as I can regarding how administrators evaluate risk and react to its possibility.   

            While risk is inevitable, different beings react differently to potential peril. In an academic partnership, both sides must face the risks to get a reward, and Octavia Butler’s short story “Bloodchild” echoes this. The novella includes our course epigraph—”If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things, accept the risk. There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner”—which relates to the state of the traditional college student, both as an animal and in the limbo of adulthood, and to the inherent, unavoidable risks of having a partner. The epigraph sparks many questions about the academic partnership that higher education institutions enter into with their students. All the while, these question shave morphed into goals that I seek to have at least something akin to answers for by the end of the semester. I want to learn more about different partnerships that arise based on each academic institution, including going more in depth on the requirements that a SUNY school must meet. I’m curious about how forms of consent inform Geneseo’s administrators and how in loco parentis has evolved on this particular campus as well as in the broader sense. Finally, I want to get a better understanding of how the campus evaluates risks. Hopefully, I will move closer to some resolutions by the end of the semester and these answers can help me as I forge my own academic partnership with Geneseo.  

Risk is defined as the “possibility of loss or injury” and, at some point, everyone will face a risk in their lives. These possibilities of peril may present themselves in different guises. It may be a physical risk, like undertaking a dangerous task, or an emotional risk, like getting attached to a certain people. The most often discussed emotional risk is a relationship. By that same token, relationships are frequently seen as romantic endeavors. But one type of relationship not usually regarded is the academic partnership, particularly between college students and the faculty, staff, and other administration of the institution. Octavia Butler’s short story “Bloodchild” broaches several forms of risk and summarily explains the inherent risk of a relationship through the protagonist, Gan. In dialogue that is also our course epigraph, Gan tells T’Gatoi, “If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things, accept the risk. There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner.” Each phrase from these two sentences carries meaning for all relationships, but particularly an academic partnership. Thus, the course epigraph will be separated into segments and analyzed in context with the course syllabus and other materials. 

            Gan’s first sentence is a conditional ultimatum, “If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things, accept the risk.” Of particular importance now is the phrase, “If we’re not your animals.” While this may seem extraneous—simply a part of the story—to a college writing course, as it appeared to me at first, it can be applied to that very institution. Being a college student in the U.S., or simply in the age range of a traditional college student, is peculiar because many are legal adults but must still endure limitations that may not be present in other countries, and a class discussion recently highlighted this exact contradiction. The concept of adulthood will be discussed later, but the limbo that traditionally aged college students inhabit can sometimes make them feel as though they are animals, penned in, all the same, and with little ability to may their own choices. This captive state is very similar to how Terrans are kept on a Preserve, and also harkens to Cathy Birkenstein and Gerald Graff’s book They Say/ I Say. In the introduction, the authors bring up a frequently received concern that using the templates that populate the book stifles creativity, boxing students in. While Birkenstein and Graff argue that it is quite the opposite for the templates, that they increase creativity, the same cannot always be said of the colleges and universities students attend. That is why it is extremely interesting that the SUNY Geneseo mission statement, as proffered at the beginning of the syllabus, includes a section for “Inclusivity” that seeks “respect for the unique talents and contributions of each individual.” The focus on individualism indicates the college’s desire to combat the sense of sameness that students can feel in a large campus; that, in turn, can lead to parallels between students and animals.

            The next conditional phrase in the epigraph is “if these are adult things,” and this applies more directly to the experience of a college student. The discussion of adulthood, or lack thereof, on a college campus is impacted literally by the age of the students, many of whom are between 18 and 21, but also metaphorically. Most, but not all, traditionally aged college students are living away from home and making significant life choices for the first time. Cognizant of that, institutions sometimes implement the in loco parentis principle, wherein they act as parental figures. Phillip Leeinvestigated the history of in loco parentis, which was a major doctrine used by colleges to have a hand in students’ private lives (p. 66) until the 1960s, regardless of their consent. This practice fell out of use due to several court cases, heralded by Dixon v. Alabama (1961), and despite nearly sixty years between that ruling and today, it can sometimes feel like in loco parentis is very much still alive in higher education institutions. As such, it is particularly interesting that there are several visits scheduled on the syllabus by prominent figures in SUNY Geneseo to discuss their work in the lens of “forms of consent”.  Such language begs the question of how in loco parentis is, or is not, implemented on campus and in each individual’s respective positions.   

            The final phrase of the first sentence and much of the next have to deal with risk. Gan tells T’Gatoi, “accept the risk. There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner.” This gets to the heart of the matter, the inherent risk of an academic partnership. Students are putting trust in an institution to teach them and fulfill the role of higher education, a faith that is both sentimental and in the form of tuition. Meanwhile, institutions rely on students to uphold certain standards, of grades and livelihood. On both sides, these hopes may not be fulfilled and even the exact opposite can happen. Yet, both continue to place at least some faith in the other. This brings about several questions. How do institutions evaluate risks and attempt to mitigate them? What detriment to the student population does this incur? This was displayed in a recent event reported in Business Insider, wherein a student maintained a Twitter account parodying the SUNY Geneseo official account. The school noticed this, evaluated the risk of misinformation, and ultimately asked Twitter to take down the account. This demonstrates the risks of academic partnership but also brings forth possible issues that can arise.             

While risk is inevitable, different beings react differently to potential peril. In an academic partnership, both sides must face the risks to get a reward, and Octavia Butler’s short story “Bloodchild” echoes this. The novella includes our course epigraph, “If we’re not your animals, if these are adult things, accept the risk. There is risk, Gatoi, in dealing with a partner,” which relates to the state of the traditional college student, both as an animal and in the limbo of adulthood, and to the inherent, unavoidable risks of having a partner.