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Gendered Divisions of Labor in the Twenty‐First‐Century Academy: Research, Teaching, and Service

Shelley M. Park and Dakota Park‐Ozee

The twenty‐first century has witnessed substantive increases in the participation of women in higher education in a multitude of roles, but particularly as educators and learners. In addition to steadily increasing numbers of female students enrolled in post‐secondary institutions in the United States, Canada, the European Union, Australia, and elsewhere across the globe, the numbers of female faculty working at colleges and universities as teachers and researchers has continued to climb. In the United States, the percentage of full‐time university and college faculty who are female rose from 36.2% in 1998–1999 to 47% in 2013–2014 (Sax et al. 1999; Eagan et al. 2014). According to the U.S. National Center for Education Statistics (2017), the percentage of all faculty who are female was 49% in 2015. Canada, Australia, and Western Europe lag somewhat behind the United States in their achievement of faculty gender parity, while most Eastern European countries report a percentage of female faculty exceeding 50% (Statistics Canada 2017; UNESCO Institute for Statistics n.d.). Nations outside of North America and Europe reporting more than 50% of their tertiary faculty as female include select countries from North and South Asia, the Caribbean, and Africa.

This chapter suggests that such statistics should not be taken at face value. As geopolitical and cultural differences complicate understandings of women's position in the academy, this chapter will focus primarily on the position of female faculty in the Western academy, with an emphasis on the U.S. academy. Our argument is that gender equity of the professoriate in the United States and many other parts of the Western world continues to be undermined by stereotypically gendered roles and practices of faculty evaluation operating within and across colleges and universities. More specifically, we argue that the gendered divisions of labor in the twenty‐first century Western academy continue to follow the patterns noted by Park (1996) at the end of the twentieth: “Research is implicitly deemed ‘men's work’ and is explicitly valued, whereas teaching and service are characterized as ‘women's work’ and explicitly devalued” (p. 47). Indeed, under the shifting political economies and corporate values that characterize Western neoliberal universities, the value gap between those who occupy researcher roles (predominantly men) and those who occupy service and teaching roles (predominantly women) has widened, leading to a multitiered faculty disproportionately populated by men at the top and women at the bottom. To address these gender inequities, it is necessary to address the gendered values encoded in institutional criteria for faculty advancement.

In the first section, we describe the comparative placement, status, and remuneration of male and female faculty in the Western academy. The second section sketches typical explanations for the disparate positioning of men and women within postsecondary educational institutions, arguing these explanations are inadequate. The next section focuses on the gendered divisions of labor within the academy, highlighting both recent changes and historical continuities that are rewarded as universities become corporatized. Central to this chapter is the argument that the allegedly gender‐neutral values of the twenty‐first century academy remain profoundly shaped by traditional gender norms valuing male breadwinning and devaluing female caregiving – with negative consequences for women and universities themselves. Finally, we conclude by discussing the difficulties with some common suggestions for achieving gender equity and offer alternative directions for transformation of the academy's gendered norms.

A Woman's Place Is … in the Basement?

As the ratio of women to men in the Western academy approaches parity, their respective placement, status, and remuneration remain far from equitable. Women are largely found inhabiting lower ranks at less prestigious institutions; related to this, they are apt to be paid less and to have less job security (see Figure 19.1).

Two graphs depicting the percentage of faculty earning under $50,000 (left) and over $100,000 (right) by gender, from 1995 to 2014.

Figure 19.1 Percentage of faculty earning under $50 000 and over $100 000 by gender, 1995–2014.

(Source: Calculated from the Higher Education Research Institute (HERI) Faculty Survey.)

Glass Ceilings

In the United States, male faculty are substantially more likely to be working at Category I (doctoral) institutions and somewhat more likely to be working at Category II (master's‐ or bachelor's‐granting) institutions, whereas female faculty are more likely to be working at Category III and IV (offering 2‐year associate degrees) institutions (Curtis and Thornton 2014). A similar pattern emerges in other nations, where male faculty are overrepresented in the most highly ranked research universities and female faculty predominate among junior college teaching faculty (e.g. Gender Equality Bureau 2017). Because the most prestigious institutions are also those offering the most resources – graduate assistants, smaller teaching loads, research sabbaticals, research labs, institutes and centers, generous travel budgets, and networks of esteemed scholars not available to those working at teaching colleges – it is difficult for faculty at lower‐ranked institutions to achieve the status needed to move to more highly ranked ones (Marginson 2006). Thus, the gap between resource‐rich faculty with national and international professional reputations (predominantly men) and resource‐poor faculty who are largely unknown and unrecognized outside their local campuses (predominantly women) becomes sedimented and self‐perpetuating.

Compounding the gender inequities caused by restricted inter‐institutional upward mobility are intra‐institutional barriers to promotion for female faculty. At public, private, secular, and religiously affiliated institutions in the United States, men are more likely to hold a higher rank. Across institutions, approximately two‐thirds of men and one‐third of women hold the rank of professor (National Center for Education Statistics, 2017). In Canada, though a smaller percentage of the total faculty attain the rank of professor, a similar pattern holds (Statistics Canada 2017). Likewise, in Australia, women hold fewer academic positions at the top ranks (senior lecturer or above) than do men (Australian Government Department of Education and Training 2016). According to the European Commission's (2016) study of gender issues in research and innovation, “striking gender inequalities” in career advancement persist there as well: “women are increasingly under‐represented as they move up the stages of an academic career” (p. 2). At the lowest faculty rank, women lag behind men by only 10%. However, women make up just 21% of the top‐level researchers, lagging an average of 58% behind men (p. 2). While women in some European countries (e.g. Germany) suffer less and those in other countries (e.g. the United Kingdom) suffer significantly more than average gender inequality in terms of career advancement, the general pattern whereby women lag behind men in terms of gaining promotion holds.

The “glass ceiling” effect holds transnationally across contexts (Morley 2013), but is especially pronounced in STEM fields and at prestigious research universities. In the European Union, for example, women represented only 13% of top‐tier staff in the fields of science and engineering in 2013 (European Commission 2016). In U.S. Category I institutions, male faculty are three times more likely than female faculty to hold the rank of professor (Curtis and Thornton 2014).

The reputation one garners from having a respected disciplinary pedigree, being promoted to the highest rank, and working within a prestigious institution alongside esteemed colleagues is closely connected to the accumulation of material capital. Not surprisingly, then, the gendered nature of what Blackmore and Kandiko (2011) call the “prestige economy” of the academy is correlated with a gender gap in earning power. Men are more likely to be hired as consultants and to be invited to participate as primary investigators on grants. Their average salary is also higher. Indeed, in the United States, the average salary for all full‐time instructional faculty at degree‐granting postsecondary institutions was higher for males than for females in every year from 1995 to 2016 (National Center for Education Statistics, 2017). Salary data from other Western nations suggest similarly gendered patterns. Female university professors in Canada who had full‐time, permanent contracts earned 86.4% of what similarly situated male peers earned (Canadian Association of University Teachers 2016). In the United Kingdom, female faculty on academic contracts earned an average of 12% less than their male counterparts in 2015–2016 (University and College Union 2017).

Importantly, gendered wage gaps in the academy cannot be reduced solely to institutional, rank, or disciplinary differences. While women are more likely to work at institutions with lower salaries and to hold lower‐ranking positions (West and Curtis 2006), men make a higher average salary than women at every rank at every type of institution in the United States (Curtis and Thornton 2014). And while female‐dominated disciplines do have lower average salaries than male‐dominated disciplines, studies controlling for field of study find U.S. women earn 2–14% less than their male counterparts (Umbach 2007; Porter et al. 2008; Allan 2011). Moreover, despite perceptions of progress toward gender equity, the salary gap is not closing. While salary increases for women outpace those for men, the inflation‐adjusted gender gap in salary has widened (National Center for Education Statistics, 2017).

Ivory Basements

The persisting gender gap in faculty rank, institutional placement, and salary demonstrates the strength and resiliency of the so‐called glass ceiling. Plentiful evidence suggests that even as women obtain educational credentials, achieve seniority, and maintain productivity similar to their male counterparts, they do not rise through the ranks of academia as fast or as high as men do. Such observations suggest the need to more actively recruit, retain, and mentor female faculty – a suggestion often captured by “pipeline” metaphors. For several decades now, feminists have advocated getting more women into the academic pipeline (most recently with a focus on STEM fields and administrative tracks). When these efforts have not led to sought‐after gender equity, we have searched for “leaks” and “blockages” in the pipelines that mitigate against or stall women's success (Byham 2009; Emerek and Larsen 2011).

Today, however, new metaphors are needed. Significant changes in the Western academy's orientation and structures have led to “glass walls” (Finley 2009) in addition to glass ceilings. These walls segment the academic labor force along horizontal as well as vertical lines (see Figure 19.2). Whereas glass ceilings may prevent a female faculty member with a full‐time, tenured, or tenure‐track position from ascending up the career ladder, glass walls prevent non‐tenured, part‐time, and visiting faculty from moving laterally into positions where pipelines, promotion ladders, and job security exist.

Between 1975 and 2011, the percentage of tenured and tenure‐track faculty in the United States dropped precipitously from 56 to 29% of employees. During the same time, non‐tenured faculty increased from 13 to 19% of university and college teachers and the employment of part‐time faculty grew from 31 to 51% (Curtis 2014; U.S. Government Accountability Office 2017). In the university, as in the larger global economy, contingent labor has become a normative form of employment (Gleason 2006). Women are overrepresented in this growing contingent labor pool and in the academic labor sectors most dependent on contingent labor (humanities disciplines and 2–4‐year colleges). Women faculty are more likely to be employed in non‐tenure‐track positions (Curtis and Thornton 2014; Andrews et al. 2016; National Center for Education Statistics 2017) and less likely to be employed full‐time compared to men (National Center for Education Statistics 2017).

Diagram depicting the gender-stratified and segmented academic labor force. The glass ceiling, glass wall, ivory basement, and sticky floor are labeled.

Figure 19.2 Gender‐stratified and ‐segmented academic labor force.

As Finley (2009) notes, “any discussion that does not include the effects and outcomes of women's overrepresentation as contingent faculty has missed a key piece of the picture” (n.p.). An increasingly feminized teaching workforce with low pay, unpredictable employment, meager benefits, and little control over its working conditions resembles the casual labor market, seasonal employment, piece work, and home work of other feminized sectors of the labor market: the hospitality industry, domestic work, the garment industry, and call centers, for example. A primary feature of such employment is its precarity and the susceptibility of the employee to exploitation. It is not surprising, then, that a disproportionate percentage of women faculty are dissatisfied with their job security (Eagan et al. 2014).

Joan Eveline (2004) has labeled the lower‐paying, less prestigious, and less secure academic positions disproportionately occupied by women the university's invisible “ivory basement.” Using the University of Western Australia as a case study, Eveline notes that the ivory basement is populated by general staff, junior academic staff such as tutors and low‐level lecturers awaiting tenure, and escalating numbers of casual and contract staff. Writing a decade later in the United States, Bousquet (2012) argues this basement also includes “a steadily more gendered exploitation of graduate assistants, undergraduate workers, outsourcing [and] debt peonage” (see Figure 19.2). Many graduate students – especially in the humanities and social sciences – are professionalized as part of a contingent teaching faculty that may be difficult to exit after graduation. The likelihood of academic employment in non‐tenured teaching positions (or non‐teaching posts in student services) is especially high for those with graduate degrees in the humanities and social sciences (American Association of University Professors 2014; Andrews et al. 2016).

As Currie et al. (2003) argue in their analysis of gendered universities under globalization, it is critical to examine the “view from below” as well as the “view from the top.” The view from below is gendered, racialized, and more apt to focus on problems affiliated with what Berheide (2013) names the “sticky floor” than with the glass ceiling. Indeed, the invisible barriers that keep women from being promoted to the highest levels of the ivory tower may seem largely irrelevant to women (and men of color) stuck at the bottom or outside. As argued later in the chapter, there is a common denominator to the struggles faced by women inhabiting various parts of the academy, and between those faculty and women working in other feminized labor markets. While the urgency and consequences of these struggles for individual women and groups of women differ substantially, both speak to organizational cultures that rely on women's work while simultaneously failing to accord it much value.

Placing Blame

Common explanations for women's lack of advancement in the academy include: women's working part time or as adjunct faculty (Harris 2009; Wolfinger et al. 2009); women's greater involvement in “pastoral” work (Todd et al. 2008; Mandleco 2010); women's failure to understand the criteria for success (Todd et al. 2008; Mandleco 2010); a lack of role models, mentoring, and networking opportunities for women (Kezar and Lester 2009; Mandleco 2010; Paludi and Denmark 2013; Henley 2015); and women's family obligations and a lack of institutional support for mothers (Sakamoto et al. 2008; Todd et al. 2008; Harris 2009; Paludi and Denmark 2013; Henley 2015).

While some of these explanations attribute a share of responsibility to male faculty (who fail to properly educate and mentor women) or university administrators (who have not made promotion criteria transparent or have not made institutions “family‐friendly”), few examine structural inequities characterizing the academic workplace. Moreover, most hold women themselves at least partially responsible for their own lack of success. Todd et al.'s (2008) study pertaining to differential rates of promotion for women and men at a U.K. university, for example, finds that “male faculty had a more realistic understanding” (p.773) of how their work was evaluated, as evidenced by men's choice to work excess hours on research and women's choice to work excess hours on teaching despite its lesser importance. The assumption that women make poor career choices based on misunderstandings of institutional norms leaves possible workload differentials unexplored (are work foci simply “chosen”?). It also fails to interrogate the institutional privileging of research over teaching (are women misperceiving this normative hierarchy or are they actively disagreeing with it?).

Wolfinger et al.'s (2009) study of the early careers of Ph.D. recipients engages the rhetoric of choice to explain why young female scholars do not “move seamlessly from graduate school to tenure‐track positions” (p. 1614), by linking their non‐ideal career trajectories to familial concerns. Adjunct non‐tenure‐track positions, they speculate, “may be attractive to women with children” because they “do not require [the] burdensome work hours” of a tenure‐track position and “may be sought out by married women, whose geographic mobility is … constrained by their husbands' careers,” indicating that these women can “make do” with the lower salaries because of “their husbands' incomes” (p. 1595).

Women's relative lack of success in the academy is frequently explained in terms of external factors. For example, gender differentials in rank or salary may be explained in terms of women's late arrival in the academy (historical factors), women's lack of assertiveness (childhood socialization), or women's responsibility for child rearing and other domestic labors. This last assumption underlies universities' attempts to develop “family‐friendly” policies and programs aimed at helping women find “work–life balance” (Wilson 2008; Dubois‐Shaik and Fusulier 2017). To be sure, gendered divisions of labor in the home may handicap women as they attempt to advance their careers. U.S. national survey data indicate that female faculty are spending more hours on household and childcare duties than male faculty, and thus are apt to experience household and childcare responsibilities as more stressful than their male counterparts (Eagan et al. 2014). Female faculty are also more likely than men to interrupt their career for family reasons (Boyd et al. 2010; Eagan et al. 2014). However, an emphasis on gendered divisions of labor in the home overlooks or minimizes several important facts.

First, domestic responsibilities are not women's only stressors. Female faculty are also more likely than their male counterparts to experience the following as stressful: personal health, finances, discrimination (sexism, racism, and other forms of prejudice), committee work, faculty meetings, colleagues, students, research and publishing demands, teaching loads, review/promotion processes, lack of job security, institutional budget cuts, changes in work responsibilities, and a lack of personal time (Eagan et al. 2014). Several of these stressors are, undoubtedly, interrelated.

Second, many academic women are unmarried and childfree. In a survey of U.S. faculty, almost 25% of women reported being unmarried (compared to roughly 14% of men) and 58.5% reported having no minor children (compared to 52% of men) (Eagan et al. 2014). As Coate and Howson (2016) note, perceptions of women's “delayed or non‐existent career progression” as rooted in, for example, “long periods of maternity leave” (p. 582) are based on stereotypes that may not be based in reality, suggesting that the stalling of academic women's careers is due to factors other than child bearing and child rearing: “Clearly the organisational culture and societal expectations are mainly to blame here … However, the idea that women's childcare responsibilities hold them back is a convenient way for the institution to avoid doing much about gender inequality” (p. 582).

By ignoring sizable numbers of academic women who do not live in heterosexual nuclear family households with children, institutions that focus on family‐friendly policies as the way to close the gendered prestige and wage gaps may inadvertently enlarge them. As Toutkoushian et al. (2007) found, marital status is positively associated with salary earnings for men. Gender‐neutral family policies may thus further privilege a group already advantaged by a combination of gender and marital privilege while having few substantive positive effects on those most likely to be disadvantaged and exploited in the academy. Family‐friendly policies are most likely to be available at more prestigious research institutions, where percentages of female faculty are low (Sakamoto et al. 2008). While there has been an increase in family‐friendly policies in recent years, the academic gender prestige and wage gap has continued to widen (Wilson 2008). This suggests, as does Gerten (2011), that “family‐friendly” policies may be quite different than “career‐friendly” policies for women.

Equating the career penalties of being female with those of being married with children places responsibility for the success of female scholars back on individual women. Encouraging women to find a better work–life balance not only blames them for their lack of equity with men, it also obscures the impossibility of work–life balance in the twenty‐first century. In the United States, academics report working an average of over 60 hours a week (Flaherty 2014). It is not merely the family, but the academy itself that is a “greedy” institution (Currie et al. 2003).

The “ideal worker,” both within academe and without, is imagined as someone who demonstrates “commitment to the job through long hours, unbroken career trajectories, and constant availability and visibility” (Kachchaf et al. 2015, p. 176; see also Acker 1990). This norm disadvantages women in several ways. First, it presumes a gendered division of labor wherein men are breadwinners and women are family caregivers, thereby imagining the ideal worker as male. Second, because the norm of the ideal worker is gendered, women may need to work even harder than men to be perceived as having a commitment to their academic careers. As Drago et al. (2006) note, “successful women will need to be the most ideal of ideal workers” (p. 1225). Third, because the (male) “ideal worker” is contrasted to the (female) “ideal caregiver,” women are more likely than men to be assigned the tasks of caring for students and colleagues. They are also more likely than men to be (formally or informally) assigned the tasks of institutional housekeeping. Fourth, gendered norms imagine caregiving as unskilled, voluntary, uncompensated labor. These norms devalue women's work in the academy at the same time as they rely upon it.

In short, the corporate university makes excessive demands on all faculty, but makes particularly impossible demands on female faculty. Explanations of women's lower wages, lesser prestige, and job insecurity in the academy focused on the competing demands of work and family divert attention from the competing demands placed on women by academic institutions themselves. While some academic women experience “loyalty conflicts” engendered by the demands of their profession and the demands of spouses and children (Harris 2009), all academic women who seek career success experience the competing institutional demands of research, teaching, and service. Women are more likely than men to engage in the labor of caring for students, colleagues, and institutions. This often stands in tension with spending adequate time on the research activities that will eventuate in job security and advancement. When we blame women for ignorance of institutional norms or for making poor career choices, we absolve institutions of responsibility for structural inequities in academic workloads, rewards, and values. Moreover, when we hold women responsible for solving gender inequities in the academy by assigning them further uncompensated labor (e.g. mentoring, diversity work), we increase rather than decrease those structural inequities.

Gendered Divisions of Labor in the Twenty‐First‐Century Academy: The New Sexism

In the twenty‐first‐century academy, faculty tasks continue to be gendered, with men focusing more intensively on research and women bearing greater responsibility for the teaching and service functions of the university. These gendered divisions of labor mirror those outside the academy, where productive labor is assumed to be “men's work” and reproductive labor is assumed to be “women's work.” Furthermore, these divisions are organized vertically rather than horizontally: knowledge production is accorded greater value than the reproductive labors of teaching and service. Performing “women's work” is associated with lower wages, less prestige, slower rates of promotion, fewer resources, and decreased job stability.

As Rich (1995) notes, “[t]he university is above all a hierarchy. At the top is a small cluster of highly paid and prestigious persons, chiefly men, whose careers entail the services of a very large base of ill‐paid or unpaid persons, chiefly women” (p. 136). These underpaid persons continue to include those enumerated by Rich four decades ago: “wives, research assistants, secretaries, teaching assistants, cleaning women, waitresses in the faculty club, lower‐echelon administrators, and women students who are used in various ways to gratify the ego” (p. 136). As increasing numbers of women have entered faculty ranks, we can add to this list: contingent faculty, non‐tenured faculty, professional advising and student affairs staff, web designers, diversity workers, and others. The contemporary university has changed, even as its gendered ideologies and structures persist. In the neoliberal university, the teaching and service sector of the economy has expanded while simultaneously becoming more tightly controlled, standardized, and cost‐effective. Research, on the other hand, has become more entrepreneurial, with an emphasis on productivity and profitability. The managerial culture and market logics now pervasive in Western universities reinforce and exacerbate gendered academic hierarchies while simultaneously obscuring them.

Researchers as Breadwinners

In the United States, male faculty publish more than female faculty; this is most pronounced among tenured faculty, but the gender gap persists at the assistant professor level too (Eagan et al. 2014). In 2011, women in the European Union accounted for only 33% of researchers – a figure unchanged since 2009. In only 8 out of 28 member states did they make up more than 40% (European Commission 2016). Despite their reputation for gender equitable policies, the Nordic countries had 87% male leaders in their research centers of excellence in 2011 (Aksnes et al. 2012). The European Commission (2016) reports that women researchers are more likely to have precarious research contracts than men and to be employed part‐time, and are paid 17.9% less than men. Globally, women make up only 29% of researchers (Fiske 2012, p. 84). Countries with the lowest research and development expenditures have the highest proportion of female researchers; for example, more than 45% of researchers in the Philippines and Thailand are women (Fiske 2012). Countries with very high research and development expenditures have the lowest numbers of women researchers; for example, less than 16% of researchers in Japan are female (Gender Equality Bureau 2017). Though the research enterprise claims to be meritocratic, gendered practices reveal the meritocratic ideal is far from realized.

As Morley (2016) argues, women's and men's respective positions as researchers can be explained by “troubling intra‐actions” among “gender, neo‐liberalism and research in the global academy” (p. 35). These intra‐actions place women where power is not. In neoliberal regimes where liberal values merge with the values of free‐market capitalism, public services (like education) are privatized, goods and services are commodified, and markets are believed to hold the solution to all problems while serving as a model for social relations (Giroux 2014). The neoliberal university both responds to market forces and internalizes a “market ethos” (Karabel 2005). As state funding is withdrawn from universities, they turn to the private sector for partnership opportunities and grant monies. Reliance on private funding means researchers must compete for scarce research dollars and tailor their projects to corporate needs and consumer desires, because research productivity is evaluated in terms of quantifiable – often fiscal – outcomes. The push for faculty to obtain more contracts and grants to produce income for the university (including but not limited to funding for their own projects, and sometimes their own salaries) is closely correlated with the organizational regimes of gender power and privilege that Acker (2006) names “inequality regimes.”

In the “new knowledge economy” (Eveline 2004), enhanced performance is thought to be the result of increased competition (Brett 2000). Conceptions of the ideal worker as someone who prioritizes work above all else combine with the assumption that “the best [researchers] are competitive and assertive” (Eveline 2004, p. 27) to construct an idealized academic who is normatively masculine. Thus, women feel they must work harder than their male colleagues to be perceived as legitimate scholars – with Latinas and Black women, as well as Black men, in the United States feeling the greatest pressure to prove themselves (Eagan et al. 2014). This is an ongoing stressor for those who feel uncomfortable engaging in self‐promotion and who may value cooperation over competition.

Further impeding women's research success is the accumulated disadvantage with which they enter competition for research dollars. Because resources such as laboratory space, publication venues, research assistants, and reduced teaching loads are concentrated in research institutions, STEM fields, and other places largely populated by male faculty, women entering these established institutions and disciplines will be “dependent on the sponsorship of chief investigators to an unhealthy extent” (Marginson 2000, p. 198). As longstanding “fratriarchal loyalties” intersect with emerging “authoritarian and entrepreneurial masculinities” in the neoliberal university (Prichard 1996), women may find themselves depending on men for the equivalent of a research “allowance.”

Women's competitive disadvantage will be further exacerbated if they attempt to establish new areas of research. “In the neo‐liberal economy,” as Morley (2016) notes, “research is frequently initiated in response to funding flows and by responses to policy concerns that are determined outside epistemic communities” (p. 31). Convincing corporations and funding agencies to gamble on new projects and methods can be challenging – especially when applicants are subject to implicit biases against those who do not embody the ideal worker. The situation is particularly dire for feminists and other scholars in the humanities, social sciences, and human service fields, whose critiques of social injustice are unlikely to find corporate sponsorship (Miller 2011). While such scholarship is not as costly as research in STEM disciplines, the quality and quantity of a researcher's output will be hampered by a lack of dedicated research time – especially given that faculty in these feminized fields often carry heavier teaching loads than their counterparts in more masculinized STEM fields.

Transformed institutional understandings of the research enterprise itself also present difficulties for women scholars. As research comes to be measured through “quantifiable metrics of production” (Martínez Alemán 2014, p. 110), research projects in terms of their exchange value (not social usefulness), and publications in terms of their quantity (without regard to quality), research products take precedence over research processes and creativity and originality take a back seat to the predictability of applications with financial viability. This leaves many women – and men – in feminized disciplines that do not generate significant financial capital with a “credibility deficit” as researchers (Morley 2016). It also renders those who care about – and who are careful about – the consequences of their research for marginalized populations culturally unintelligible as researchers (Fricker 2007). As research is redefined in terms of marketability and financial impact, research projects built around a care ethos become barely recognizable as research. Care work as “women's work” is more readily recognizable as service.

As Fricker (2007) notes, women are often subject to “epistemic injustice.” In the neoliberal university, where faculty are rewarded for reinforcing market priorities and marginalized for resisting dominant ideologies of profitability, instrumentalism, and efficiency, women are often wronged in their capacity as knowers. More women than ever inhabit the academy; however, in a “virility culture” (Morley 2016, p. 32) that values people according to how much money they earn, many women are shut out of the research enterprise. Those who occupy the masculine role of “breadwinner” continue to achieve both material and symbolic dominance over those responsible for the reproduction of everyday life within the institution.

Teachers as Carers

As the financialization of the neoliberal university intersects with traditional norms of masculinity (men as breadwinners) to create a male‐dominated research faculty, so neoliberal ideologies intersect with traditional norms of femininity (women as caregivers) to create a female‐dominated teaching faculty. Indeed, the neoliberal university has helped to create “a marginalized care work sector within the professoriate” (Cardozo 2017, p. 407) that mirrors other forms of undercompensated care work, such as in private households, health care, public administration, and K–12 education. The devaluation of “the teaching labor necessary to sustain the life of higher education” (Cardozo 2017, p. 408) takes its most obvious form in the burgeoning teaching‐only contingent sector of the academy staffed predominantly by women, many of whom live near the poverty line. In the United States, 67.6% of teaching faculty were contingent faculty in 2011; reliance on contingent faculty was highest in the less prestigious institutions (over 80% in 2‐year colleges) and accounted for almost 100% of the faculty in for‐profit institutions (Curtis and Thornton 2014). Some 56% of women faculty were part‐time, with another 20.4% employed full‐time but in non‐tenure‐track positions; an even higher proportion of Black women were contingent faculty (Curtis and Thornton 2014). Similar patterns prevail elsewhere (e.g. Paul 2004; Andrews et al. 2016).

The steep escalation in part‐time and short‐term faculty contracts is predictable in an era when efficiency and cost‐effectiveness are primary values. Small seminars taught by highly paid research faculty are an inefficient and costly type of education; universities are more profitable when they raise class sizes, hire contract staff with few rights or benefits at lower wages, and free up research faculty to develop marketable products and business partnerships. We can only understand why the surplus labor pool of teaching faculty is increasingly female, however, by understanding how traditional gender roles and values extend their reach into a twenty‐first‐century academy that views its values as gender‐neutral.

Both male and female faculty in the United States describe teaching as “essential” or “very important” to them (Eagan et al. 2014). Yet, male faculty are more likely to buy course releases with grant monies (Currie et al. 2003) and less likely to prioritize relationships with their students. Women teach a higher median number of courses and spend significantly more time in the classroom and preparing to teach than do men (Eagan et al. 2014). Women are more likely to engage in time‐intensive teaching activities and to train themselves for these activities. Though women report professional teaching development to be less available to them than to men, they are significantly more likely to attend teaching workshops, develop new courses, and integrate technology into their classes.

In addition to teaching more than men, women report teaching differently than men. Most faculty agree it is essential to teach critical‐thinking skills. For approximately half of U.S. faculty, this translates into less extensive lecturing and more student‐centered pedagogies, including: class discussion, cooperative learning (small groups), group projects, and student evaluations of one another's work (Eagan et al. 2014). Across all institutional types, however, female faculty are much more likely to engage these and other student‐centered methods than men, most of whom report using extensive lecturing in their courses. These marked differences in how women and men teach may reflect different disciplinary training and methods. Notably, however, female faculty are also much more likely than male faculty to report teaching the critical‐thinking skills most closely aligned with male‐dominated STEM disciplines – for example, encouraging students to evaluate the quality and reliability of information and to look up scientific research and resources. Male faculty observe that students in their courses may be challenged and overwhelmed, but they are less likely than women to take an active interest in their academic and personal problems; over 90% agree that individual students are responsible for their own success (Eagan et al. 2014).

Similar gendered patterns emerge regarding curriculum diversification. Many faculty express dissatisfaction with the degree to which the curriculum addresses diversity in content or pedagogy; concerns are especially pronounced in STEM fields (Eagan et al. 2014). However, women are much more likely to diversify their curricula. They are also more likely to meet with resistance because they have done so – especially if they are women of color (Grahame 2004). The picture that clearly emerges is one in which male researchers depend on female teachers to make sacrifices of time and assumptions of risk affiliated with caring about diversity.

As those occupying a caregiving role, women are also more likely than men to mentor and advise students. A significant gender gap exists in academic advising in the United States across the board – whether reviewing student transcripts, informing students about academic programs and opportunities, fostering student ethics, discussing student goals, writing letters of recommendation, assisting students with personal problems, or connecting students to support services or professional networks – women faculty report interacting more frequently with their students than do men (Eagan et al. 2014). These “auxiliary teaching functions” are forms of “life support” for students and for the university; nonetheless, they fall outside the confines of an ideal (male) worker's day and are unquantified by “productivity” metrics (Cardozo 2017, p. 418). Thus, like professional development related to curricular and pedagogical innovation, advising and mentoring are poorly compensated.

The performance measures and reward structures for teaching value most highly forms of teaching that are quantifiable (e.g. student credit hours produced, customer satisfaction as measured on student evaluations) and that most closely resemble the prestige markers associated with research (e.g. teaching graduate students, involving students in one's research projects). These markers help explain why, despite spending considerably less time teaching and engaging in pedagogical innovation, men are significantly more likely than women to receive a teaching award (Eagan et al. 2014). Male faculty behavior demonstrates an understanding that teaching productivity counts less than research productivity and, moreover, that teaching productivity – like research productivity – values efficiency over quality and deliverable products over caring relationships. Women's relational teaching labor is largely inefficient and subjective; thus, “compensation and merit structures will not favor these activities” (Martínez Alemán 2014, p. 117).

Teaching is a marketable service that is commodified in the neoliberal university. Both public and private universities “sell” classes and student services in exchange for tuition revenue. This economic framing of teaching and advising stands in tension with a more feminized understanding of teaching as a time‐intensive labor of care (Martínez Alemán 2014). Students and administrators increasingly view teaching as a form of customer service wherein job‐related skills and credentials are to be provided as efficiently as possible. This situation demands that female teachers negotiate complex systems of gender expectations. Traditional gender norms give rise to the expectation that women will provide cross‐generational care at the same time as they devalue that care as unskilled and uncompensated labor. Contemporary norms of neoliberalism further devalue such caregiving as anachronistic in the twenty‐first‐century academy. Thus, women may be advised to spend less time on feminized teaching‐related activities; yet, institutions and students depend on their relational labor and women who do not live up to gendered expectations of care are apt to be viewed as inadequate teachers.

Service as Institutional Housekeeping

The subordinated work of women in the academy has always included service work. This work, once done almost exclusively by the cadre of women noted by Rich (1995), is now shared by female faculty. In addition to carrying out auxiliary teaching functions like advising and counseling students, female faculty are more likely than their male counterparts to mentor new faculty, belong to faculty unions, work with community members to address local issues, and spend time on “institutional housekeeping” (Hult et al. 2005; Eagan et al. 2014). Yet, despite spending more hours on committee and other administrative work, women are less likely than men to feel their concerns are heard and respected by peers and university administrators (Eagan et al. 2014).

Faculty service, like research and teaching, has been transformed by neoliberal values and practices. State and consumer demands for efficiency and accountability, and the attendant need to standardize and control the processes of academic production and value of academic services, have given rise to a host of auditing and assessment tools used to measure faculty work (Prichard and Deem 1999). While such tools are instituted by management, it is faculty who are charged with using them. The result is additional levels of reporting that erode faculty autonomy and authority while increasing their workload. Women are most frequently assigned this time‐consuming and tedious work because gender norms suggest they are “best suited” to such tasks (Martínez Alemán 2014, p. 126). Because of their typically lower status, combined with their desire to be good academic citizens, women often feel unable to say no.

Diversity work and mentoring are also commonly seen as “women's work.” Unlike auditing and assessment tasks, women may take on this work because they believe it is important. Women and people of color are more likely to report discrimination in the academy and less likely to be satisfied with the effectiveness of institutional diversity policies and practices (Eagan et al. 2014). Because of their first‐hand knowledge of inequities and greater concern with issues of diversity and inclusion, women and people of color are more likely to be assigned and to undertake the work both of attempting to transform institutions and of mentoring new faculty forced to navigate inhospitable academic terrains (Kezar and Lester 2009; Fowler 2017). In addition, women and members of other marginalized groups may find themselves with excess committee work due to an institutional desire for committee diversity (Porter et al. 2008). Some women – especially those from STEM fields where women are underrepresented – are frequently asked to be a token presence on multiple committees (Hult et al. 2005).

Despite the importance of work aimed at ensuring greater gender, racial, and other forms of equity on campus, it often interferes with women's career advancement. Not only does such work count for little in academic promotion, it may actively count against someone seeking promotion to higher faculty or administrative ranks. As Ahmed (2012) notes, responsibility for diversity and equality is unevenly distributed; it is also political. Thus, insofar as “diversity and equality work is less valued by organizations, [becoming] responsible for this work can mean to inhabit institutional spaces that are also less valued” (p. 4). In this sense, equality regimes (institutions that claim to be committed to diversity and inclusion) can simply be inequality regimes in disguise, “a set of processes that maintain what is supposedly being redressed” (p. 8). Diversity work, like other forms of institutional housekeeping, is the invisible “glue work” (Eveline 2004) that holds institutions together. Like the unpaid domestic housekeeping traditionally performed by wives and mothers, “institutional housekeeping is usually performed without resources and recognition” (Bird et al. 2004, p. 195). Moreover, like the work performed by wives for their husbands and mothers for their children, it is to be performed happily as a labor of love. Pointing out inequities – including the unfair distribution of responsibility for solving institutional inequities – and refusing to sweep them under the rug is likely to get one branded a “professional killjoy” (Ahmed 2017, p. 263), a troublemaker who is unsuitable for promotion.

While men are less likely than women to engage in institutionally necessary yet uncompensated service work, they are more likely to enter administrative posts carrying authority and compensation (Eagan et al. 2014). As Allan (2011) notes, “the gendered prestige hierarchies [pertaining to] faculty are also present at senior administrative levels” (p. 56). In the United States, women are more likely to be found in senior administrative posts at community colleges and, regardless of institution, are more likely to serve in student affairs, alumni affairs, or diversity offices than in academic affairs (Touchton et al. 2008). While women frequently direct women's studies programs and other small academic units with small budgets, meager personnel, low pay, and little institutional sway, they remain underrepresented in other, less precarious academic leadership positions, such as department chairs and college deanships (Dominici et al. 2009). However, women's representation in middle management positions (e.g. department chairs) is improving. A study of managers in British higher education indicates the recruitment of women for the “dirty job” of middle management during times of organizational change (Deem 2006). This suggests that the ivory ceiling separating service from administration may shift as management work becomes feminized and declines in status. White men continue to dominate chief academic officer positions, as well as CEO positions, especially at research universities in the United States and most of Europe (King and Gomez 2008; European Commission 2016). Peterson's (2016) analysis of Sweden's high percentage of female vice chancellors posits a “glass cliff” phenomenon wherein women's entry into senior academic management correlates with a decline in the merit and prestige of such positions, which are becoming more time‐consuming and, thus, more difficult to combine with a successful scholarly career. If this is true, it bodes poorly not just for women, but for universities themselves.

Conclusion

According to West and Curtis (2006), “[t]he barriers for women in higher education not only raise questions of basic fairness but place serious limitations on the success of education institutions themselves” (p. 4). A primary barrier to women's academic success is the persisting gendered hierarchy of academic reward structures – a hierarchy that prioritizes research productivity while devaluing the reproductive labors of teaching and service. While the neoliberal emphasis on free markets and academic entrepreneurialism – together with gestures toward “family‐friendly” policies – suggests gender neutrality, the neoliberal academy is, in fact, characterized by a rapidly widening gender gap between highly compensated institutional breadwinners (researchers and high‐level administrators) and those to whom the increasingly devalued tasks of caregiving (teaching) and housekeeping (service) are relegated. This comes at a significant cost to women. It also has a high cost for other academics who, by choice or by circumstance, find themselves in feminized disciplines or in the feminized spheres of teaching and service.

Educational institutions themselves are compromised by the transformed understanding of research as a money‐generating enterprise. Reliance on corporate monies to fund research undermines the university's claim to be an arbiter of what counts as excellence in research. Higher education is further compromised by its dependence on and exploitation of contingent labor. As the American Association of University Professors (AAUP 2014) notes in its updated statement on “Contingent Appointments and the Academic Profession,” the dramatic increase in part‐time faculty has created “systemic problems for higher education” that have weakened faculty governance, imperiled academic freedom, and diminished student learning. The increased reliance on contingent faculty places higher education “at a crossroads,” the AAUP emphasizes in its 2015–2016 Status Report, which recommends converting “part‐time non‐tenure‐track positions to full‐time positions … either to full‐time assistant professorships (generally a tenure‐track position) or, as an interim step, to full‐time instructorships (generally a non‐tenure‐track position)” (Shulman et al. 2016, p. 19). Where part‐time positions make sense, it recommends “fractional positions, including fully proportional pay, that are eligible for tenure and benefits, with proportional expectations for service and professional development” (p. 19).

Converting contingent faculty positions into full‐time or fractional positions with improved pay, benefits, and job security is an important step toward gender equity in the academy. To do this while retaining a distinction between (non‐tenure‐track) teaching faculty and (tenured and tenure‐track) research faculty will nonetheless fail to address the feminization of the academy that creates its institutional crisis. Reminding us of the academy's labor history, Alker (2017) notes that “[t]enure was created … when white men taught other white men [and] hidden female labor [was] kept in the privacy of the domestic sphere” (p. 34). That tenure begins to erode as a critical mass of women and people of color enter the academy is no accident; “it fits the pattern that always enables the feminization of labor” (p. 34). In a feminized labor force, the labor associated with women becomes economically devalued. In the twenty‐first‐century academy, this labor includes: teaching and advising undergraduates – labors increasingly relegated to contingent faculty and non‐tenured staff who are female; the clerical work of assessment, auditing, and report writing – labors of middle management that have been downgraded to institutional housekeeping; and diversity work – labors of women and people of color that provide institutions with the facade of equity at the same time as gender, racial, and other gaps in salary, status, and security widen. We should thus be skeptical of calls to preserve tenure while maintaining a class‐ and gender‐divided structure within the academic marketplace. Warning that a collegial and integrated community of teachers and scholars is not sustainable if we continue, in patriarchal fashion, “to divide the work of academics between a less valued system of teaching and an increasingly cutthroat publication system,” Alker (2017) suggests we should fear “the death of an academic middle class” more than the death of tenure: “[w]e cannot send the majority of our adjunct colleagues down on a sinking ship and not end up in the water ourselves” (p. 35).

To note that the crisis of contingent labor in the neoliberal academy is, in part, about the feminization of academic labor is also to note the shortcomings of still‐prevalent “pipeline” approaches to improving gender equity. To recruit more women into the academy without addressing the devaluation of women's work is simply to repopulate the ivory basement. To be sure, a few women – properly groomed in men's ways – may (and do) gain access to the higher echelons of the ivory tower. But insofar as research productivity, as currently understood, depends on a feminized class of labor that will teach students and perform the glue work that holds the institution together, it will be impossible for all – or even most – women to ascend to those ranks. Achieving gender equity in the academy requires moving away from the dominant framework of liberal feminism – a framework that focuses on access to male domains and status (Allan 2011) – without questioning how those domains are sustained and whether that status is merited.

Instead of working to gain greater power within the academy by accumulating the prestige associated with research productivity, feminists might question the prestige structures and markers themselves. Gender equity as a collective rather than an individual good requires structural adjustments sensitive to the interdependencies of different forms of academic labor both within an individual faculty career and among diverse faculty. Such adjustments should allow faculty to have balanced careers integrating research, teaching, and service. They should also allow for varying career trajectories responsive to differing faculty skills and interests and multiple institutional needs. This kind of workload flexibility across a faculty member's career and across departments, colleges, and universities allows individuals, units, and institutions greater resiliency and adaptability when faced with changing personal, economic, cultural, and political landscapes. Such flexibility, however, depends on rewarding multiple forms of labor and allowing proportions of effort to shift as needed without penalty.

In restructuring the academy to make women's work count, our work should be informed by both a care‐based feminism and principles of socialist feminism. To be sustainable long‐term, institutions of higher learning must provide intergenerational care and protect vulnerable groups from harm (e.g. discrimination, harassment, exploitation). A care‐based feminism reminds us to value care while also grappling with the fact that under conditions of neoliberal globalization, relations of care “can and often do become relations of domination, oppression, injustice, inequality, or paternalism” (Robinson 2011, p. 5). By making women's caregiving and caretaking visible as labor and by insisting on an equitable distribution of goods (e.g. budgets, salaries, staff, workloads) sensitive to worker needs, the lens of socialist feminism helps to ensure that women's work and women themselves are adequately supported. Socialist feminism also reminds us that unionization may be a critical strategy for resisting the normalization and feminization of contingency (Bousquet 2012), and, as an intersectional feminism, it reminds us of the ethical and strategic importance of developing a coalition with other types of care workers (e.g. K–12 teachers, nurses, housekeeping staff) both on and off campus. In questioning academic hierarchies of prestige that devalue women's work, we must resist our own learned tendency, as academics, to believe that the currency of a faculty position is worth more than that of those on whom we depend.

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