Fear and Loathing in the University of Tartu

Former University of Tartu employee Christiana Sammal writes about why she no longer works at the university.

Ever read Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas? It’s this savage journey to the heart of the American dream. A friend just told me there’s even a film with Johnny Depp. But if you don’t happen to know it, maybe no need to go looking, because “Fear and Loathing in the University of Tartu” is also pretty gripping.

This July, a colleague and I took on the initiative of drafting a public address to university management, expressing our deep concern about how they opted to react to recent sexual harassment and abuse of power committed by the director of the Viljandi Academy of Culture.

Dealing with the petition’s drafting and circulation, I felt like I was in some kind of a nervous dystopia. Hunter’s anxious and paranoid Las Vegas. Everyone warned me to “be careful”. One colleague emphasized that in the university system, each layer and unit is very aware of its position within the hierarchy. That “interference” is taboo because it tends to cause hurt reactions or “bad blood”. Another colleague cautioned that there are people at the university who very consciously work to ensure that the issue of sexual harassment does not go anywhere and that the status quo is maintained. That the people responsible for these issues are not just ignorant or unaware, but that there are also malicious people out there.

How Much Free Speech Does a University Employee Have?

Fear and silence everywhere. I saw that many were not content with the university’s solution, but few were ready to speak about this openly. Many did not want to put their name on the petition because somewhere were powerful people with a different opinion. For instance, one friend described the situation as disgusting, appalling, shocking. He said that as a member of the department and university, the case affected him too. But when I suggested we do something about it, he refused.

– I’m not brave enough!

– What are you afraid of?

– I guess I’m dependent on the system, and not brave enough to break this dependency. I’m not independent enough.

– What do you mean you’re dependent on the system?

– My salary comes from the government, and I don’t know how possible it would be for me to speak out against the current social order. I’m not sure, for example, how freely I could talk about this in the media.

This is a banal example of how the patriarchal, capitalist, and state systems are intertwined, and how their forms of oppression mutually constitute one another. My friend’s key concern is his salary (capitalist oppression). The institutions funded by the state do not tolerate critical viewpoints (state oppression). So my friend accepts a situation, in which a male director uses his position of power to harass a subordinate (patriarchal oppression).

But I won’t go on a theory excursion. Let’s concentrate. My friend highlighted that he doubts whether he has the right to freely express his views and beliefs. My goal here is not to criticize anyone’s thinking or behaviour. I understand that people have different backgrounds, tempos, and personalities and that this all impacts how possible or not possible any action or decision can be. My arguments here are not directed at individuals, but rather at the system, which creates an environment where people experience fear and feel that they are not able to have a say in the decision-making processes that affect them.

People Are Shaped by Their University Experiences

As an aside, I want to stress that I have had many positive experiences as a student and employee at the University of Tartu. Despite health problems, I was able to stay in my master’s program thanks to a helpful and understanding program director. I consider my supportive and inspiring supervisor to be the key factor in why I was able to finish my doctoral studies. The boss and colleague with whom I most recently did project work are people I trust and admire. In large part, I have been very lucky with people in the university, who make the effort to create a positive environment, where communication, understanding of difference, and critical, yet constructive thinking are priorities.

But then again. Is my experience more of an exception? I know many people for whom the deciding factor why they were NOT able to successfully finish their studies was this same personal factor. That is, according to their experiences, the university seriously lacks responsive and caring people. It is becoming ever clearer – also evident in the comments of those who signed our appeal to university management – that many have not been able to finish university precisely because of sexual harassment. At the end of the day, the benevolent people of the university are very restricted within a system, in which they often do not have the power to impact top-down decisions and in which they must play some political “non-interference” hierarchy game.

If It Doesn’t Make Money, We Liquidate It

I should mention that there were previous red flags indicating that the University of Tartu is not a free, democratic, equitable place, where the management’s priority is people’s wellbeing. I remember when they closed the sign language program, saying that it was not a competitive field. It’s true that there were few students in the program, but those few can have an enormous impact on the everyday coping of very many vulnerable people. I remember when they liquidated the arts center. Even though there was great interest and many students, university management classified it as an “unnecessary” or “secondary” activity (lisategevus). The university did not involve students in this decision. “It’s a question of values,” my sketching teacher said.

Indeed, both sign language and art are closely related to values. On the market, they are not “competitive” fields, meaning that according to capitalist values, they are worthless. But both have changed my life. They haven’t brought me money, but have greatly impacted how I experience the world, express myself, engage with others, and am able to come to terms with problems. Considering we live in a mental health crisis era, the value of all this cannot be overestimated. During the arts center liquidation, students stressed that it brought together people from different fields and that they had a creative, safe space to exchange ideas and hold open discussions.

What Behaviour Gets You an Official Warning?

This last point – open discussion – merits additional commentary. Namely open discussion was at the core of a colleague’s proposal last year to hold an open meeting with university management and talk through decision-making processes. He had noticed that many people had expressed doubts as well as fears related to top-down decisions, so he wrote to the mailing list, suggesting meeting and talking. The meeting took place. After this, he was blocked from the mailing list. The university accused him, among other things, of “impoliteness” and “emotional behaviour”, for which he received an official warning. The same disciplinary action that, this summer, the university issued a person who abused his position of power to sexually harass a junior colleague long-term.

So maybe it would be worth talking more about these kinds of things. About what values guide the decisions made at the University of Tartu. How transparent are those processes? Who has the right to participate? How might we characterize the internal culture and working environment? It’s not normal to feel fear. To feel that you don’t have freedom. To feel that you’re voiceless. That powerful people in the university hierarchy will remember you if you’re brave enough to express your point of view. If you dare to say that protecting victims of sexual harassment should be a priority. All this is not normal… But then, it’s so normalized. It seems that most just think that this is the way things are. Nothing to do about it.

No Imagination.

Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of David Graeber. His most well-known works are The Dawn of Everything (2021, with David Wengrow) and Bullshit Jobs (2018). His approach, involving the intersection of anthropology and activism, has always resonated with me. It’s not enough to be some “academic” and “research” social phenomena. We need to use our knowledge and positions to attempt to improve current deplorable realities. One of Graeber’s most famous quotes asserts: “The ultimate, hidden truth of the world is that it is something that we make, and could just as easily make differently.” That is, the systems of our world exist only because, every day, we accept them. Despite the fact that most of us do not believe that they are acceptable. We (re)create them daily. In large part because it seems that this is the only possible reality, that there are no other options. Graeber highlights that today, imagination is acutely lacking. People are simply not capable of imagining that things could be otherwise.

Very often I hear that the system is bad, yes, but what would we do without the system, what would fill its void? There would be chaos and confusion. The unknown is scary, understandable. But there are many initiatives in the world that demonstrate that it is, in fact, possible to live, work, learn, and engage differently. In South America, for instance, indigenous communities created the pluriversity (vs. university), where educational processes are rethought. Pluri, because different sources and approaches to knowledge are valorised, not just “science” in the narrow, hegemonic Western understanding.

Possibilities for Non-Hierarchical Structures

Even in this tiny bubble of Estonia, I’ve lived in places where life approaches, values, and decision-making structures are fundamentally different. Pahkla Camphill in Raplamaa is an inclusive and ecological community created around anthroposophical principles. Massia, on the Latvian border, is an open project space, with the departure point of non-hierarchical, non-extractive, collective world-building practices. During unstable times in my life, Pahkla and Massia gave me not merely a home, a support system, and the opportunity to get myself together, but also taught me to engage with life more meaningfully, slowly, and, ultimately, I believe, also more ethically. In Pahkla, all participate in the village meetings. Regardless of an individuals’ so-called disabilities, all are given space to share their points of view and concerns. The point of departure is not holding on to power and rigid hierarchy, but rather empowerment and self-questioning. What could I learn from engaging with others’ perceptions and thoughts? When I participate in the decision-making process, do I take others’ points of view into account?

Alternative approaches and realities exist. Function. Prove that a normative society and a university, where capitalist values and hierarchy dominate, are not the only possibilities. I don’t want to romanticize these places or suggest that everything works perfectly. There are certainly tons of problems! However, the structures and practices to deal with problems are inherently different. Decisions are made based on consensus, and those who are impacted by the decisions are the key participants in these processes. Time is taken to tune in and create trust between those who share an endeavour. If a problem comes up, then an open discussion, in which all can participate, is arranged. Although they don’t generate money, art and sign language, which I myself taught to villagers in Pahkla, are valued activities. The starting point is our responsibility to do more to support the most vulnerable and marginalized.

What Kind of Material is the University Made of?

I’m a loyal Paranduskelder customer. Thanks to their fantastic assistance, I am increasingly capable of fixing broken items. I am proud that I don’t tend to simply throw out something because it’s damaged, but rather invest time and energy in creative repair. But sometimes when I visit the Paranduskelder, the magical craftspeople say that repair is impossible: it’s just too broken. Usually, because the original materials were not of quality. You could exert a lot of effort to make it a bit better temporarily, but it’s not realistic to expect that you can salvage something that was made from a dubious material to begin with.

This is a (the?) key reason why I choose to resign from the university. I don’t believe that it’s realistic to expect real change in the university system framework when the problems’ roots are so systemic and institutionalized. I don’t find that the values according to which top-down decisions are made reflect my own values. I don’t wish to cooperate with an institution, where art and sign language are labelled “unnecessary activity” and liquidated. Where sexual harassment and abuse of power are called “a little mistake” and swept under the rug. Where, instead of open dialogue, everyone plays some “non-interference” hierarchy game. There are a myriad of other places for work and research (in the broadest sense of the words), where communication happens, where you don’t experience fear. Where you don’t hear sentences like “it’s not my business” or “I don’t agree, but I’ll keep quiet because I’m afraid of the people in power” because a stable salary is more important than injustice.

Researcher to Stripper?

I certainly don’t want to suggest that everyone should do as I do, or that this is a choice possible or suitable for everyone. I’m just sharing my own experience and trajectory and proposing that perhaps it’s worth asking yourself why do I work in the university? Do I believe that this institution’s values are in the right place? Could the main reason perhaps be that I need to make a salary? That I’m comfortable? That I’m not able to imagine alternatives? And are those reasons good enough to justify how I dedicate my time and energy? I gazed in the mirror and asked myself these questions (and lots more, I’m an unbelievably tiresome individual), and decided that it’s time to move on. Of course, this decision is a ticket to uncertainty, instability, discomfort. But maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe we live much too comfortably. If we want to change something in this crisis-ridden world, we have to start with ourselves. Which is undeniably uncomfortable.

Chatting with Another Friend.

– Where will you get money now?

– I have some friends at the strip club. Maybe I’ll join them. They say as a safe work environment, it’s likely better than the University of Tartu.

Great joke, right (actually, not really, check out Stacey Clare’s The Ethical Stripper, 2022). But I know many people in the university who find it difficult to imagine how to return to their work or studies this fall, knowing how university management has handled the latest sexual harassment case.

Can the University of Tartu management claim that their priority is students’ and workers’ well-being? Being in dialogue? Engaging inclusively? Creating a safe working environment? It seems to me that it’s more about power and money, which they are able to concentrate in their own hands in great part thanks to the university’s internal culture of fear.

Society and education/learning can be organized entirely differently. Such that values such as equity, communication, and valorisation of difference are priorities. This is not some utopian fantasy. It’s doable. Difficult, but definitely doable. What’s needed, though? Imagination and bravery.

Translated into English by Christiana Sammal.