Don't Label Me!

I went to a short-lived writing group on Zoom early in the pandemic. I think it only lasted the one session. Our facilitator asked us to write down four words that describe ourselves. 

My immediate reaction was that I hate being labeled by others, and it's only slightly less distasteful to apply labels to myself. Then I wrote down "label-averse". On further reflection, I added "mathematician", "beach-loving", and "fairness-obsessed".

When we went around the Zoom room giving our labels, someone asked me, "Why do you consider yourself a mathematician?" 

It hadn't occurred to her that I might actually be one.

I laughed and explained why (PhD in mathematics, math professor for more than 35 years, many research papers published in mathematics journals).

Why am I averse to labels?

Labels can sometimes be helpful. But labels are what we use to stereotype people, to put them in boxes so we can treat them a certain way. Nearly every time someone has told me, "I knew what you'd think about that," based on some stereotype they had about me, they were wrong.

I already regret the term "fairness-obsessed". That's what people call it when they want to sneer at concerns for fairness.

If you insist on labeling me, I guess I won't cringe at "beach-loving" and "mathematician". As far as I know, no one has questioned my "beach-loving" label, or sneered at me because of it, but there's always a first time.

My Bluff

As I told a colleague afterwards: 

"The committee meeting was a total waste of time, though perhaps somewhat amusing. It consisted of B and C yelling at each other, and interrupting me whenever I tried to speak. I raised my hand for awhile and eventually gave up. When I was finally given an opportunity to speak, I said:

(1) Robert's Rules of Order are there for a reason,

(2) I think it would be helpful if one person (C, who was the committee chair) ran the meeting and were in charge, and called on people fairly and equitably, and everyone were given fair opportunities to speak and not be interrupted. 

C said that she's not very good at running a meeting. I said I'd be happy to do it.

W once told me that what helped her most as Chair of her department was being the mother of middle school boys---she dealt with her colleagues the way she dealt with her sons. I felt as if today's meeting was like a playground argument."

Before the next meeting, I asked C why she didn't simply bring the contentious issue to a vote, rather than engage in endless argument meeting after meeting. "You have the votes on your side. Let's just vote on it and move on." Both B and C had grown up in communist countries, and they might have been struggling to figure out how to function in a democracy.

C asked me to run the next meeting. I constructed an agenda that we sent out to the committee in advance. That was not a standard practice in my department.

When I was on the Council of the American Mathematical Society (AMS), someone told me that the people who have power are the people who know Robert's Rules of Order. I walked across campus to the library in search of Robert's Rules of Order. I checked out several large old dusty volumes, along with one thin pamphlet that was basically a cheat sheet. Back at my office, I read the cheat sheet. I realized I was never going to get through the large tomes before the meeting.

I took them to the meeting anyway. It was at least a good

weight-bearing exercise. I dropped the high stack of books down on the desk. They made a satisfying thump. I welcomed everyone, said we'll follow Robert's Rules of Order, and pointed to the impressive-looking stack of thick black books. I didn't point out that I hadn't read them. My colleagues looked cowed.

I had been on enough AMS committees to know how to run a meeting. As a stickler for fairness, I tried hard to make sure everyone who wanted to had a chance to speak and feel heard. I probably came close to obeying Robert's Rules of Order, in spirit if not in the details.

Someone made a motion and we discussed it. When it looked as if the discussion had run its course and B was getting ready for a fight, I asked: 

"Is there any more discussion on the motion ...," 

B opened his mouth to speak, and I continued: 

"... that hasn't already been said?" 

B froze for a moment, then his mouth closed. We voted, B's side lost, and we moved on to the next agenda item.

I wrote up minutes after the meeting, and C forwarded them to the committee. Again, something not normally practiced in my department.

I'll amend the advice that the way to have power is to know Robert's Rules of Order by adding "or make it look as if you do."