Do you really need a Master's degree for that job?

As much as I love the field of Student Affairs, I would be willing to bet I'm not the only one in the field who can become cynical from time to time. The question which serves as the title of this post came back to mind as I was reading Stephanie Lynch's latest blog post. I loved her humorous cynicism as she recalled asking herself a similar question, toward the beginning of her foray into student affairs: "What? Why do I need a Master's degree to sing the fight song to new students?" I appreciated hearing it from a colleague this time as it echoed a feeling I've struggled with throughout the process of achieving my degree and getting my first job in the field. Do I really need a Master's degree for this job?

The main answer I hear from current grad students, and even some new professionals, is that in our programs we learn how to identify where students are in their development and how we can then cause them to grow through it. The reason hearing this statement causes the inner cynic I spoke of earlier to emerge is that, I think, many of us mistakenly believe that we need to buy that student development theory outlines very rigid, concrete stages of development--and that our goal as practitioners is to recognize these stages in our students in order to diagnose their development and prescribe an educational opportunity that pushes a student to the next level. I know finding ways to understand how theory translates into practice takes some work, but is the purpose of theory really diagnostic?

Honestly, I know most of us realize that it is not. Trying to make theory diagnostic would demonstrate the opposite of understanding how to put theory to practice, and we're taught to be critical of student development theory from the get go. Most student development theory emerged itself from critique of more foundational theories--most notably how Carol Gilligan's work on women's moral development emerged from her critique of her own professor William Perry's theory of intellectual and ethical development. Yet these questions still nagged me. Why do we learn theory? What is the purpose of all those classes we take? Why do we invest so much time and energy into papers, theses, and comprehensive exams? What is the purpose for our Master's degrees?

I don't think the answer lies in examining the question, "What have you done today that requires a degree in Student Affairs?" It does provide a great reflection on our work, but I don't think we're looking for particular moments throughout our workday or individual decisions we made where having the Master's degree would have made the difference. Taking the time to reflect on what what my role is on campus and the philosophy behind how I approach my work, looking at what I do from a broader perspective, led me to my answer as to why I need a Master's degree to do what I do.

The main conclusion I reached is that I am a better teacher in my role because of my education. Theory plays an important role in conceptualizing how we approach our work, so rather than being a direct diagnosis of how to help a student, it provides paradigms for framing our interactions. Steph hit the mark with her example of her former supervisor. She described how her supervisor's understanding of theory shaped how she worked with students, leading to more successful outcomes. While theory itself is not dogmatic nor prophetic with regard to how young adults develop, having engaged with research and study on that development provides us frameworks for leading students to learning and developmental outcomes, and causes us to approach our work as educators, rather than service providers. I do a better job teaching and facilitating learning because of my own education.

Bringing in student affairs staff with student affairs graduate degrees ensures the campus continues to be infused with scholars. The classroom does not need to be the only place students come into contact with people engaged in scholarly work. Co-curricular involvement has the opportunity to become more meaningful, educational, and impactful when grounded in research. A key component of a Master's degree is engagement with current, relevant research.

Having a Master's degree is also a way I express to my students how important I value my own education. Many of us know we become mentors to our students through our work with them; I would argue that having mentors who have achieved their goals and attained higher levels of education would foster in students a greater desire to do so themselves. I'm not trying to suggest we mentor all our students toward working in student affairs, but seeing how we reached our own goals might cause the spark which provides them the efficacy to establish and achieve their own. I can also advise them better in pursuing a higher education because I have done it and I understand how the system works.

Overall, I feel like I'm a better educator in my role due to my own education, which I think makes me more effective in my work. I've realized that someone, if needed, most likely could perform the essential duties of my job without a Master's degree, but I am more effective, my students achieve better outcomes, and our field is stronger as a whole because of the research and graduate preparation happening in Student Affairs.

Bryce

To Mentor...or to Navigate?

I posted on Twitter the other day that I had just presented to the student government budget committee asking for increased funding for the program I supervise. I work at Green River Community College where I oversee the Commencement Achievement Program, an initiative out of Diversity and Multicultural Affairs geared toward helping students independently navigate the college system. I received a response from Lisa Endersby, a student affairs guru out of our neighbor to the north, which led to an email conversation about mentorship. She asked me why we call my student staff Peer Navigators, rather than mentors, and how that structures the paradigm of their work.

Many of us work in some capacity supporting or supervising student mentors. This mentorship appears in various paradigms, such as student leadership, peer tutoring, or, quite often, explicitly defined mentorship. Each of these different titles describes the various roles and functions our students fill in our programs/departments/divisions/colleges/etc., yet each title was intentionally chosen to frame their work within a specific paradigm and provide them a framework for reflection on how they serve their peers. Our exchange got me thinking a little deeper about why our program chooses to call them "navigators" rather than something more common, like "mentors." It was a term I inherited, but my director and I built it explicitly into my program's mission statement. Why do we consider it such a unique and valuable title?

Over the past two years, I've worked with our Student Life graphic designer to come up with a graphic to use in our literature and our promotional materials. Because we call our students "Peer Navigators," and the program has a mission around college navigation, she recommended a compass. I loved the idea as it symbolizes navigation, and the concept of direction (North, South, East, and West) has cross-cultural meaning. It provides a conceptualization of the college environment as a stormy sea, and our program provides navigation and direction to help students keep afloat above the waves. We work with mostly first-generation, low income, and otherwise underserved students, for whom the college environment is terribly unfamiliar and very intimidating. Our students can become overwhelmed by the process of attending college itself, let alone their coursework to complete their degrees, and quickly feel strong feelings of isolation and the desire to return to "friendlier shore."

I train the Peer Navigators to be a mentor to their students, but also to guide their peers toward developing their own skills to independently navigate the college system. Since many of them had similar college experiences, they can empathize with the students who access our program and authentically guide them from that common understanding. Often if a student thinks a question she has is stupid, she begins to believe she is the only one with that question, and that college staff may belittle her for not having all the information needed to attend in the first place. Asking another student can be much more comfortable, especially if the response is, "Oh yeah, I had that same question. Let me show you how I got that information."

Transitioning from high school to college includes a huge cultural shift in how each institution functions. College requires a greater degree of independence and self-motivation on the part of the student, and also requires prior knowledge of the lingo and processes on which all the aspects of college attendance operate. For students who do not have access to this information prior to admission to college, the transition becomes a barrier to degree completion. The college becomes a stormy sea, and the student a solitary captain navigating the murky waters rising on all sides. We call our students Peer Navigators because they become a compass, map, and literal navigator to walk side-by-side with their peers relying on their own experiences to help navigate the storms toward calmer waters.

Bryce